Like It Was Meant To Be
by MacMhuirich
Summary: Our team investigates the disappearance of a girl and a young midshipman. One agent is having a hard time. Some McGiva.
1. Chapter 1

_Ahoy.  
This is my first __**W**__ork __**I**__n __**P**__rogress. _

_Plus a firster in posting a story without making use of a Beta! My apologies in advance for all the mistakes you'll find. _

**LIKE IT WAS MEANT TO BE**

Dawn felt comfortably cool by the time Tim finally stepped out of the NCIS building.

After another full nighter – the third in a row – he was dead on his feet and yearned for his cosy bed. Sure he could stay over at the dockyard, but the lack of spare clothes forced the team to go home for some well deserved rest and freshening up.

Tim and Ziva were practically neighbors and so they shared a cab home. Reclining in the backseat, McGee was in danger of falling asleep. An occasional glance aside told him Ziva was also trying hard to stay awake during the 20 minute ride. After first having dropped Ziva at her place, he eventually arrived at his own and found it extremely problematic to unfold his lanky legs out of the taxi and make them move across the pavement after having paid the fare.

Leaning his head wearily against the main entrance door and yawning mightily, it took him ages to insert the key and let himself in. He couldn't remember having mounted the stairs to find himself standing in front of his apartment. There followed another session of fumbling to get inside – he'd even dropped the key in all his clumsiness.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he was a little nonplussed that Jethro didn't bounce up to him and sweep him off his legs. It took Tim a couple of minutes before it dawned on him he'd left his canine friend at the kennel because of the irregular hours of this week.

It felt suffocatingly hot inside. He'd forgotten to drop the blinds against the sultry midsummer heat.

En route to his bathroom, he unbuttoned his clingy, sweat stained shirt. Next followed shoes, socks, pants... After finishing his business in the bathroom, it didn't take long to scoot under the sheets and succumb to sleep - '_Calm as a child in dreamless slumber_' – and soon Tim's breathing became steady as he fell asleep amidst the sounds of the awakening city..

"_Ding_"

The elevator doors slid open and out stepped Special Agent Timothy McGee. Even though he'd slept the sleep of the dead for a few hours, he didn't feel that much rested. He trudged to his desk, noticing from the corner of his eye one very fresh and rakish looking Tony DiNozzo about to collide with him, grinning widely and brandishing an envelope.

"Look, Tony." He sighed wearily, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder into the corner of his workspace, before turning to look at his friend. "I don't want any of your jokes right now, 'kay?"

Tony stepped back with a mock-apologetic face. "Wow, Probie! Now you hurt me! Aren't you interested in what I have here?" But then he dropped the mask and turned serious when he noticed his friend wasn't really paying him attention.

Tim dropped heavily on his desk chair, switched on his computers and started shuffling through the papers that littered his desk.

Tony placed the envelope on Tim's desk, while surreptitiously scanning his friend's face, and didn't like what he observed. Granted, they had _all _been pushed to the edge on this last case, but a good night's sleep usually worked wonders and at least _he _felt refreshed and ready to tackle almost anything.  
McGee, though, was another question. He looked even worse than he did last night. Tony was dismayed at the state his normally fastidious friend was in. He noted the pale and drawn face, the baggy and hooded eyes that now were rather dull and had lost their usual sparkle, the compressed mouth, the razor nicks on his chin… He'd even missed some spots.  
But then, Tony - and about everybody else here in the bullpen - knew how hard Gibbs was driving this agent.

As McGee made no move to read the letter, Tony picked it up and sliced it open. Unfolding the letter, he rather felt than saw McGee's eyes on him.

"Why are you opening my mail?"

Tony deliberately ignored the petulance in Tim's voice. "You never even looked at it, McGoo! Aren't you interested?" He looked up to meet his friends squinting eyes.

Tony practically waved the letter under McGee's nose, hoping for some positive reaction. Disappointingly, he got none.

McGee just dug his handkerchief from his pants and wiped his sweaty brow and continued the sweep over his neck. Even this early in the day, his white shirt showed dark patches of sweat and his movements were getting more sluggish by the minute.  
Tony sighed and after a quick scan of the letter, he regarded his friend with a frown.

"You should read it, Tim. It's an invitation for one Timothy McGee to deliver a lecture on... ah... let me see..." He skimmed the lines and continued: "_Law Enforcement and Computer Crime Prevention: The Latest Break-Through._ ".

Tony looked up from the letter. "I'd 've thought you'd jump at the chance!"

He shrugged, folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.  
"At MIT no less," he finished with a wink. There was no way Tim wouldn't rise to this bait!

The change was dramatic. One moment, lassitude weighed down on McGee. The next, he jumped from his chair in sheer nervous energy and couldn't snatch the letter from Tony's hands fast enough. He pulled it out of the envelope again and started reading, his head and lips moving as he mouthed what his eyes were taking in. First his expressive face displayed disbelief but it was soon to be followed by elation at such good news.

He whooped and pivoted once, a wide smile virtually cutting his face in half.

Then, with a sobering sigh, he eyed Tony, leaned in, and - to Tony's astonishment, and everyone else's present in the squad room - he kissed his co-worker and gave a fist-pump mouthing "Yes!" before becoming his subdued self once more.

He fell back in his chair, breathing heavily. Out came the hanky again, for now he was perspiring, not only from the heat, but also from the rare and short outburst.

When he had his breathing under control again, he looked around and promptly turned crimson when he noticed all eyes fixed on him. He hunched his shoulders and quickly turned his attention to his computer to work on his report of the latest case.

Well, he tried to.

His thoughts kept wandering.

"Sweet." He softly whispered, all smiles.

This was indeed a great honor – to give a lecture at one of the most prestigious institutions in the US. At that thought, the smile slowly disappeared to be replaced by a look of trepidation.

He considered the various practicalities now that it was a certainty. He had a lot to say on the subject, but the sheer notion of hosting such a public oratory scared him, to be honest.

Oh but he had talked in public before: expressing his thanks and adding credits to those who had helped him with his novels, if that counted. Or, the inevitable small talk at the signings at some local bookshop or at some posh banquet or other to which he was invited under his nom-de-plume, Thom E. Gemcity.

But lecturing a group of interested MIT know-it-alls?

His face promptly turned beetroot once more and he tried to hide his long frame behind his computer screen.

Tony gave his Probie one last worried look before strolling back to his own desk.

The peace and quite was barely restored to the room, when Gibbs energetically ran down the Mezzanine stairs and, en passant to the elevator, retrieved his Sig and badge from his desk and tossed a file on Tony's desk.

"Gear up! DiNozzo, David: interview, Waverly Campus. Get us something useful to work on. McGee with me!" Gibbs snapped as he turned around at the elevator and waited for Tim. The quizzical look on his face made Tim blush even more.

They stepped into the lift and Gibbs stared McGee down, who was now wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, his green eyes vacantly looking through Gibbs. A rare occurrence. Usually a patented Gibbs-stare would make him cringe.

"Well? What was that about?"

"Uh...I...mmm...I'yuh..."

_Twack_!

"MIT's asked me to read a lecture. This is...this is...well...I...eh…" He inwardly groaned as he slowly turned his face away. Oh dear! Now he's acting like a complete bumbling fool!

Amazing how this always seemed to work. Just like an on/off switch. Gibbs had to restrain himself from laughing and kept his face inscrutable. It wouldn't do to let the young man witness his amusement.

They both waited in silence – Tim keeping his eyes locked on the floor and Gibbs observing him with an amused smile on his face - until the lift dinged and the doors slid open. As they both stepped out, Gibbs slapped McGee on the shoulder: "Good for you, McGee!"

Tim sighed with relief, all fatigue gone, a beam plastered on his expressive face.

In the sedan, silence reigned. Gibbs' mind was on the case at hand and McGee... Yeah, well, he was again feeling rather miserable and sweating profusely due to the oppressive heat. Too bad the airco had broken down. Why now, when there's a freaking heat wave in DC? Gibbs' driving wasn't exactly improving things either and McGee's stomach was getting more rebellious.

"No puking in the car, ya hear, McGee?"

"-"

"McGee?"

"...mpfff...b-b-boss..." Tim slumped in his seat, his head leaning against the window. He groaned, his eyes were tightly shut and his face had turned a sickly shade of green.

Gibbs sighed. His youngest agent could be such a trouble child with that delicate stomach of his! If he wasn't careful, he'd grow ulcers before soon.

Gibbs, ignoring the angry honks, weaved through the lanes and quickly pulled up on the hard shoulder. He twisted his body to rummage behind his seat for a bottle of water while Tim shakily opened the door and stumbled out, just in time to throw up.

Tim just sat there on his knees, panting and feeling rather light-headed with shivers running down his spine. He felt a cool cloth in his neck and a supporting hand between his shoulder blades. Gibbs leaned in front of him and looked him in the eyes as he offered the rest of the bottle.

"Drink," he ordered, still assessing his agent. Tim obliged and after a couple of swigs, he returned the bottle, passing the back of his hand over his mouth.

Gibbs took the bottle from the trembling fingers and poured some water on the cloth again before pushing it into Tim's hand to wipe his face.

"Better?"

"Yeah, ... it-it's this infernal heat, boss."

"I know. Now get back in the car. We've got a missing girl and there's no time to waste."

He waited till McGee was back in the car before pushing the bottle in Tim's trembling hands


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim had sufficiently recuperated by the time they reached the house of the missing girl's family.

On the way, and in spite of his nausea, McGee had made good use of the 2 hours' drive to study the file. It summed up to 18 year old Lorraine gone missing: daughter of one Lt Daring, last seen at the Waverly Campus stepping onto the bus heading home for the weekend. Needless to say the girl never reached her destination.

It was a tearful Mrs Daring who let both agents in.

When they were settled with a cup of coffee – tea for McGee, since he knew the coffee would do no good to his upset stomach – Lt and Mrs Daring gave their version of the facts which corroborated with the reports the local LEO's had given NCIS.

Both Gibbs and McGee threw in extra questions to fill in some of the blanks. Every little detail, trivial though it might seem during the first stages, could well become important clues as the investigation progressed. The two expert agents would leave nothing to chance.

Halfway through the Darings' narrative, Tim became restless once more.

Taking notes seemed more and more an impossible task to accomplish as little bright spots invaded his notebook.

"_C'mon, McGee – focus!_"

He squeezed his hurting eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, then moved his hand to rub at his temple.

Lt Daring stopped briefly when he noticed the younger agent was not longer paying attention or scribbling and turned to him with some concern.

"Agent McGee? Are you feeling all right?" He asked with a questioning look at Gibbs who had half risen from his seat.

"I'm fine, Sir. J-just… I'll be fine, Sir. C-could you please tell me where the bathroom is?" He got up and swayed slightly as some tingling sensation manifested itself in his legs, and followed Ltd Daring out of the sitting room.

"In here, Agent McGee."

"Thanks."

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"A glass of water… would be nice. Thanks."

Lt Daring left him and he turned on the tap, bent over the sink and splashed cool water over his face and neck. _Much better… at least, for now._ He straightened himself again and stared at his gaunt reflection. That was still a bit of a shock. He groaned as he towelled his face dry. After that, he just remained standing there, chin on his chest, resting his hands on the washstand and closing his eyes, trying hard to calm down.

He simply couldn't figure out what it was. Why was he feeling like this. Was it something he ate? Hardly. He'd barely eaten anything. He'd felt no need to eat. It had never occurred to him that taking nourishment was no excessive luxury but a bodily need. He'd also run out of granola bars and had forgotten to replenish the stock in his drawer. Coffee. Yeah gallons of the black stuff… he'd drunk plenty of that alright.

Tim looked up again and squinted. Damn, that lighting fixture was way too bright! It literally sent stabs of pain through his brain. He quickly switched it off and left the bathroom.

Before entering the living room, he took a quick breath and squared his shoulders.

Mrs Daring passed him a glass of water which he gratefully accepted. He sat down next to Gibbs who raised an enquiring eyebrow. Gibbs never was one to waste words if his face could do an equally good job to convey his thoughts, his will. McGee had become quite adept in translating those expressions in the 7 years he'd been on Gibbs' team.

"I'm good." He nodded. "_More or less,_" he added to himself.

A glimpse at his notebook, which was now in Gibbs' hands, gave away that the interview had been continued in his absence. A relief, for he didn't know if his failing eyesight would be up to any more writing.

Gibbs finished his second cup of coffee and stood up from the comfortable couch with a meaningful glance towards McGee who slowly rose to his feet.

"May we bother you, Mrs Daring, to take a look at Lorraine's room?" Tim softly asked so as not to upset the distraught parents more than needed. Also, he found that sound irritated his senses.

Mrs Daring gave a shaky nod and a flighty smile.

"Sure…. First room on your right when you're upstairs."

Gibbs and McGee made their way up to the girl's bedroom.

As they both took in the room, they found surprisingly little girly stuff. Lorraine certainly didn't favor pink. That much was obvious. But then, Tim thought, neither did his sister Sarah. There were no stuffed animals. The room was mainly red with dark furniture, and black, white and red floor length curtains. Few posters adorned the walls. Her desk was a mess and when they opened the wardrobe, various articles tumbled out. Gibbs quickly closed the door and turned on his heels to scan the room.

"The Darings were positive there was nothing out of the ordinary in their daughter's room. Nothing at all to indicate she'd planned to leave, apart from the usual stuff she took with her to DC and all that had been found still at the dorm by the LEO's."

Gibbs sighed. He'd never get used to it. The past would always catch up with him. This could have been Kelly's room. He shook his head. Don't go there, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"McGee: if you're finished daydreaming, I'd suggest you take some pics of this room. Might help with the profile."

Tim blinked and readied his camera.

On the nightstand, there was a small frame with a picture of a smiling young man in naval uniform having his arms wrapped around Lorraine's shoulders.

"She sure has the hots for this guy," McGee observed, indicating the picture with his head.

He focussed the camera and snapped a shot. The flash brought on an unexpected reaction.

"Uhhh…" McGee grunted and stumbled backwards, right into Gibbs who swiftly stabilized him by grabbing a firm hold of his left arm which still held the camera.

"Steady, McGee!"

"S..s..sorry, b-bbosss…"

"What's wrong wi' ya?"

"Dunno… Am feeling a little odd…Heat…Head…Dunno…"

Tim grimaced in annoyance at his clumsiness, but then a sharp stab penetrated his brain. It hit him utterly by surprise and he took a faltering step away from Gibbs who'd let go of his elbow.

"B-bboss… Must go." He frantically pushed the camera in Gibbs' outstretched hands and lurched to the door, somehow made it downstairs and out the front door, to the other side of the sedan where he finally sank down in the shade.

His head was pounding. His breathing was erratic and his heart hammering. He leaned against the car and closed his eyes. He saw nothing but stars anyway. When he ran a trembling hand across his clammy face, he couldn't but wonder how many times he had done that already on this day?

When he'd settled down somewhat, he swallowed, got up and opened the car door to get inside.

He found his swoop cap and, leaning back in his seat, covered his eyes with it. It helped…some.

It was hard to believe he was suffering from a heat stroke. What else could it be? This had never happened to him before. What a whacking headache!

_Aaarggghhh_! This was driving him totally and utterly nuts. _Thud-thud-thud_…Relentless, unabaiting, pulsating, throbbing… All in his head. It felt like it was going to explode any second now.

He felt the nausea coming back and quickly made it out of the car, his swoop cap falling to the ground as he staggered to the bushes on the opposite side of the road where he promptly threw up. Mostly bile, for his stomach held nothing.

"McGee!"

He looked blearily up when he heard his name.

"McGee! Tim! Where are you? Answer me!"

McGee gulped and called out weakly. "Here, boss!"

He got upright and started to walk slowly back to the car, where Gibbs held the door open, ready to lend him a hand if needed.

After he got in, Gibbs gave him one more look while fastening Tim's seatbelt and after having closed the door, he walked around the car to get into the driver's seat for the ride back to DC which couldn't be fast enough.

Ducky was humming to himself when he entered the dark autopsy room after his lunch break.

One can well imagine his shock when, after having switched on the lights, he was greeted by the sight of the prostrate form of Timothy McGee on one of his tables.

McGee's arm shot up and came to rest over his face when the harsh light hit his eyes like pins and needles. He moved his legs till they dangled over the side of the table and sat up with a groan.

"My dear, dear boy! What brings you to my domain?"

"Gibbs told me to…to see you."

"Did he now?" Ducky asked absentmindedly as he went into his office to fetch his medical bag.

"_Yeah, he did indeed, and in no uncertain terms._" Tim thought morosely, examining the pristine autopsy floor.

"So I waited in here. It's cool, dark, quiet…" He sighed.

He looked up as Ducky suddenly emerged in his peripheral vision – quite close, in fact – and peered into his eyes. The medical examiner took in Tim's general state. Not good.

"What happened to you, Timothy?" The doctor asked while he deftly placed the cuff of the sphygmomanometer on Tim's left arm.

"I don't feel too good, Ducky."

"Mmm…I couldn't fail to come to that same observation, young man." Ducky declared while taking off the cuff. "Your blood pressure is a little elevated. I already noticed your sensitivity to light."

Tim groaned in response and chose to lie down again on the cold table. It didn't go unnoticed by Ducky.

"How long have you been suffering from that headache, Timothy?"

"It came to a full blast when we were interviewing the Darings, the missing girl's parents. Was feeling a little sick already. Hot, squeamish, dizzy… you know. I'm knackered and I can't concentrate. But the debilitating pain in my head…that happened when I started taking pictures. The flash…hit me…wham!" And he demonstrated that last bit by raising his fist and bringing it just short of his pulsating temple.

"So you would safely say your pain is severe. Good, good. Did you suffer from tunnel vision?"

"_No-no-no, not good!_" Tim thought.

"Yeah. Noticed that little detail when I could no longer read my own notes."

Ducky nodded.

"Say Ducky, can't you just give me something against this infernal pain?" Tim pleaded.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course my dear boy. You just try to take a rest while I get you something."

Ducky returned shortly with a glass of water and a pill.

"Here, Timothy: take this. It will effectively relieve the pain. Meanwhile we can continue our examination."

Tim was asked a myriad of questions to which he only needed to answer by a simple 'yes' or 'no', until Ducky was quite dismayed to hear Tim had nearly starved himself and worn himself to complete exhaustion during that last case.  
Yes, it was common knowledge that Jethro drove the boy hard. Much harder that the rest of the team. The motive behind this was anybody's guess.

"Oh, Timothy! You really should take better care of yourself!"

"Uh?" Green eyes looked questioningly into the doctor's.

"I take it you never suffered from migraine before?"

"What?" Disbelief. "No way: that's for girls…women… I mean, men don't have migraines!" He laughed and winced.

"Wrong, young man. And you would do well to remember this, for it may not be the last time, either, if you don't have a care in the future."

Tim stared at the ceiling at Ducky's stern tone.

At that moment, Gibbs chose to enter the autopsy room to check on his agent.

"Well, Duck? Verdict?"

"I've checked his vital signs and after questioning Timothy, I have come to the following diagnosis: a rather severe form of migraine. Plain and simple! And I advise you to treat your people better than you do." Ducky said crossly, wagging his index finger at Gibbs.

"Hey! I just came down to give him a ride to Silver Spring. I'm giving him the rest of the day off. I've got Ziva and Tony working on all the material we have."

"Rest of the day? Are you serious? Have you perhaps not noticed the hour, Jethro? Rest of the day..."

"I…"

"No, Jethro. You will take Timothy home, alright. But not just yet. For now, he will rest here until he feels he can stand upright without toppling over or soiling my clean floor. Only then - no sooner - will you take him with you. And see to it that he's fed for God's sake! I will give you some Maxalt for him to take before he goes to bed – and tomorrow morning – if needs be."

Tim, embarrassed beyond measure at witnessing the dressing-down Ducky was giving his boss, tried to sit up again. He didn't get very far.

"You, young man, will remain in this horizontal position until I give you leave to get off that table."

"But…" Tim sheepishly started.

"Don't you 'but' me, Timothy. Don't budge and that's final."

Ducky stepped away to return with a blanket for Tim to lie on. It was an improvement to the naked, steel autopsy table. An ice-pack, wrapped in a towel, was then placed on Tim's brow. Tim wondered idly when Ducky would put a thermometer in his mouth and tuck him in - like his mom used to do when he had the measles.

Satisfied, the doctor turned to Jethro: "In my office." Gibbs meekly followed. You just didn't argue with an angry Ducky.

The lights went out as soon as both men entered the medical examiner's sanctum sanctorum and Tim welcomed the darkness. Moreover, he was pleased to notice the drugs were taking effect: the intense pain was now waning to a dull one. The cold-pack was kind of numbing. His nausea had lessened, too.

Well, since he was left all alone now, there was nothing else left to do but try to relax, release all thought, sleep…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Ziva was enjoying the relative calm of a Sunday morning in the squad room. '_Enjoying_' may be a somewhat inaccurate description, considering how she was flipping from one screen into another on her computer.

She was thankful for the quiet because she needed to concentrate upon this demanding case.

But for her, the bullpen was deserted. It wasn't even that early. No. True to form, Gibbs had been in before her. About 10 minutes ago, he'd left for the break room for a snack and some coffee.

For all his complaining about the coffee at the office, he didn't bother to sneak out and down to get his favorite brand from Sicard Street.

This time, his mind was uncharacteristically engaged elsewhere.

The ex-Mossad officer cast a glance at Gibbs' empty desk. As a well-trained investigator, Ziva couldn't help but notice something was off.

When he returned to his desk, he didn't say much - not that he ever did anyway - and the only sign he gave in acknowledgment of Ziva's presence, was a diminutive nod in her direction when she looked up at him over the top of her screen.

Yes. Something was definitely bugging him, she observed. His restless behavior was reminiscent of a caged lion, she thought, not without some satisfaction at knowing she got this idiom correct.

He was fidgety and after only a few gulps of his hot coffee, he made up his mind and left again.

Ziva could only guess where to. But what's the use of that? She was curious, but she was also known for her patience. Of course she had an idea.

She looked at the clock on her desktop and a frown formed on her brow. DiNozzo was late...again.

Her eyes shifted from Tony's desk to Tim's equally vacant one.

McGee was late, too! Now _that _was such a rare occurrence! Very curious indeed. But then, everybody had seen he was unwell yesterday, to such an extent that Gibbs had given him a ride to his apartment and stayed with him until he ascertained himself that his agent was fine enough to be left alone.

_Migraine_. Ziva gave a little snort and shook her head in disgust. She couldn't remember if she'd ever stayed home for a mere touch of migraine! What a wussie McGee was. At that thought, she grinned maliciously: Tony would find McGee another suitable nickname.

"_Gibbs won't like this,_" she thought and shrugged, turning her undivided attention back to the data that filled her screen.

Five minutes later, Tony strutted into the bullpen and commenced the daily task of starting up his computer.

As the monitors displayed the usual succession of start-up screens, his gaze went to his friend's desk and a cocky grin spread across his handsome features.

"McGoo's late! Boss will spank McPumpkinhead!" He chanted like a first grader as he stepped from behind his desk and went over to McGee's, where he proceeded to steal Tim's favorite pens and various other articles he came across when sniffling through his things.

"Mmm..._Axe _?" He wondered out loud, turning quizzically to Ziva.

"Yes. He'd forgotten his deo at home and only noticed when he arrived at the hotel. Mexico. Remember? Playing Abby's very personal bodyguard? He bought it at the local shop."

Tony chuckled. Yeah, and if he knew! Something was definitely not okay when those two got back in from their little fieldtrip to Mexico.

When he straightened again, he felt a familiar slap at the back of his head and he turned around just in time to see an arm retract over the partition wall.

"Grow up, DiNozzo and leave McGee's stuff alone." Gibbs growled.

Tony had at least the decency to look chastized as he carefully put McGee's things back in their rightful places.

"Mc..."

"...Gee's not coming in for today, DiNozzo, so better get some work done for once. Got that?"

When Tony didn't move fast enough, Gibbs continued: "I need full background checks on the Darings. Phone records, bank cards, credit cards, e-mails... Think you can do that?"

"But, who's going to do the cellular network tracking?" Tony whined.

"How about you, for a change? You do know how a computer works, right? And if you can't handle it, take it down to CCU. Abby's still on Balboa's case."

Tony couldn't ignore Gibbs' sarcastic tone.

"On it, boss!" And with that, Tony went straight into business mode.

It still took Gibbs by surprise how his Senior Agent managed to switch in a matter of seconds from clown into professional.

Gibbs flipped through the print-outs of Tony's and Ziva's witness statements, before looking up at them.

"That guy, Hugh Pellowe. What've you got on him?"

He shifted his eyes to the plasma in anticipation.

Tony and Ziva both got up and stood beside him.

"Talk to me."

"O-kayyy. Our trip to the campus yielded this one name that kept popping up in most of the interviews." Tony brought up the screens showing details on said young man.

"What do we know about him beside the obvious? His day-to-day business, personal activities... What?"

"Hugh Pellowe is a midshipman on board the _Centennial_. Not much said about him, other that that he's Lorraine Daring's latest boy-friend. Rather run-of-the-mill type of guy. Oh, and he's not best friends with mom and dad Daring." Tony said.

"Why is that?"

_Ding_

"Nobody seems to know anything concrete except that the Darings aren't exactly on friendly terms with midshipman Pellowe." Ziva explained.

"We were just about to run a background check on him." Tony added, turning his head when he felt a presence close behind his right shoulder.

"McGee!" He exclaimed in surprise, which had the other two turn as well.

"Hey," Tim whispered with an apologetic smile. "Sorry for interrupting."

"No, it's okay, McGee." Ziva hastened to reassure him, her face grave and questioning.

"You still look like crap, McGoo." Tony half chuckled.

Gibbs just stared McGee down, which made Tim feel rather uncomfortable, on top of everything else. "Just great." He concentrated on the plasma, trying to ignore their gazes.

Finally Gibbs spoke. "What did I tell you yesterday, McGee?"

McGee felt the heat steadily creep up his neck and all over his face. Still, he focused on the screen. He just didn't quite know what to say.

"Well?" Gibbs pressed on.

There was no way Tim could keep up this game of ignoring his boss and, licking his dry lips and rolling his eyes upwards as he often did when too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, he finally replied in a soft voice that could barely be heard.

"I..I-yuhh...I couldn't stay home, boss."

Then he looked straight into Gibbs' polar eyes with his own poor puppy dog pleading ones, his brows a near perfect reversed 'V'.

"Look. I couldn't stay home with just this stupid headache." His voice went up an octave at the last word and his gaze went down to his shoes which seemed, all of a sudden, surprisingly interesting. "Feel so...so..."

"Such a wuss, Probie?" Tony offered with a grin.

"Rock it off, Tony."

"'_Knock_' it off, Ziva!" Tim and Tony simultaneously corrected her, both men turning to face her and rolling their eyes.

"Thanks, Ziva," Tim added with a weak smile which turned into a wince which didn't go unnoticed by the others who looked at each other.

Tim cleared his throat and pulled his shoulders back: "I'm good, boss."

"You sure, McGee?"

"Y..Yes." He was about to nod vigorously but only just refrained from doing so, minding his still painful head.

"Okay then. Hugh Pellowe. Tony, get his CO on the line. McGee, go and check with your buddies at CCU how far they got with the tracing. Ziva, those background checks..." Gibbs continued as if nothing happened.

The team scattered to attend to their tasks.

The call to Pellowe's CO produced nothing out of the ordinary. He was absent with leave. Absent. Where? With whom? For how long? The ship was out at sea, so, for the time being, there were no interviews to be conducted there.

-

Tim heaved a huge sigh of relief to be out of the squad room and on his way down to the basement to supervise. For once, he was glad to have others do the job for him. He couldn't openly admit it, but he was still feeling a little out of sorts.

First things first, though: men's room to splash some cold water over his hot face. He grabbed a paper towel and began drying his face as he peered at his reflection. What he saw was not encouraging as he took in the sunken, dull eyes, the pinched look, hunched shoulders, pale and cracked lips...

He tossed the used towel in the bin in some frustration and rested his hands on the sink, chin on his chest in abject exhaustion.

Gibbs was right. He hadn't said as much, but Tim had seen it in his eyes, his stance. Gibbs knew he was not yet up to par. And nor were the others deceived by his smiling reassurance. God! Who was he fooling anyway?

He groaned and pushed himself backwards off the sink and started walking towards the door and out of the men's room.

A little later, he stepped into the IT room where he was greeted with genuine joy...which turned into looks of horror and dismay as he stumbled, eyes squeezed tightly shut as a sharp pain shot through his head. He braced himself against the wall in an effort to regain his equilibrium, but it was a loosing battle. With a grunt he collapsed, his fall broken by a pair of hands that tried to support his body as he was gently lowered to the floor.

Why was he seeing black spots? Why was all sound muffled? Where did this strange cotton wool sensation come from? Someone called his name and he wanted to reassure them. He was only done in, nothing to worry about, just catch his breath and he would be up in a sec. But there was no sound coming from his lips and he frowned at that...or did he?

He felt numb, like floating on water. He saw more than felt someone loosen his shirt, put something on his arm, touch his brow. Blurred shapes as if underwater. He saw...Ducky? "_Hey, Ducky..._"

"Tim..th..." When had Ducky started to have trouble pronouncing his name?

He felt so tired and his eyelids felt so heavy. Oh, what a fantastic idea: let's take a nap...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The first sound that Tim noticed, as awareness returned, was whispering.

He felt both lazy and reluctant to open his eyes, so he just lay still, savoring the moment of peace and relaxation. He took stock of what had happened, how he felt, how he came to be here, in his own bed, when the last recollection he had, was being at NCIS...

Nah, he wouldn't bother. For once, he didn't care. All he knew, was that he was considerably better than he had felt the past week... No, make that '_weeks_'. Although, '_better_' was relative. He still felt like he could sleep for weeks. It was just that he was free of those whacking headaches and, as long as he maintained this horizontal position, he was in no immediate danger of feeling too dizzy and nauseous.

He really hated to admit it (and he blushed at the thought) but he didn't mind at all not being on the case, right now. Tim was glad to be off this case and actually rest.

Yesterday was different. Guilt had still tugged at his conscience and he had so wanted to help, to do his job. He couldn't help it. But now? No, it wasn't worth it. He would be absolutely useless anyway, as he found it extremely hard to concentrate.

A small sigh left his lips and he felt himself drift away again.

The whispering stopped...

and resumed.

"He awake, Ducky?"

The ME stood up from the chair and leaned over the recumbent agent.

"Timothy?"

No response. Ducky frowned and lifted one eye-lid and then the other. Oh yes, the lad was pretty much out again. Next, he checked Tim's vitals. He felt too hot for Ducky's liking. So he was still running a low grade fever, but nevertheless, it needed checking. He'd already taken some blood and had sent it to the lab at Bethesda. When it came back, it showed nothing spectacular except that his Hgb was a bit on the low side.  
More alarming were the high tension, and his heart and respiratory functions still left to be desired.

To Ducky, it was more a case of stress, combined with longterm exhaustion, and a minor viral infection. And he could bet on it that Timothy had skipped meals as he was wont to do when overloaded with work. Ziva had even mentioned Tim had spaced out once or twice and how she had been irritated by his incessant bouncing his leg. The young man could be so careless when it concerned his health.

Ducky put his equipment away again and walked out of the bedroom, followed by Gibbs who seemed to be sporting one big questionmark on his face, and closed the door behind him.

"Well, Duck?"

Ducky stepped behind the kitchen counter and prepared himself some tea, while Gibbs took the cups from the cupboard and poured coffee from the perculator in his mug.

The doctor was thoughtful as he replied.

"He's fine, Jethro. Sleeping like a baby, and he still needs it after the rough weeks he's been subjected to." Ducky admonished his friend.

Gibbs sighed and sank down in the desk chair, his gaze travelling over Tim's things that littered the desk, and finally coming to rest on the covered Remington that had been idle for too long. The kid should pick it up again. There was no question about it: McGee, aka Thom E. Gemcity, was a talented author.

He lifted his face and stared out of the window as he thought about the 'why' it was that McGee had abandoned writing. Tsjah, he hadn't really given the young agent much respite to spend some time on his hobbies. There were other things in life besides one's job.

Ducky looked at his friend.

"You really drove him to utter exhaustion. You do realize that, don't you, Jethro? Only...I'm in the dark as to the reason behind your behavior. I honestly don't get it where the lad deserved this."

Gibbs winced and turned away from the window to face his long-time friend.

Ducky's heart mellowed at the sight of his friend's inner turmoil. The guilt lay naked on the other man's face. This time, Gibbs would do nothing to hide it. Here he stood, guilty of taking advantage of a young agent's ridiculous debt to him.

"_You're enjoying having a valet,_" Abby had told him as Tim – worn to the bone Tim – had left her lab to fetch him coffee. He had asked for some, and his agent had obliged – no questions, no dawdling, just doing what was required...getting his boss his much craved for coffee.

Now, those words, seemingly spoken in jest, came back to mind and they held an accusatory note. One that held too much truth for his own comfort as he was now staying at McGee's place, making sure the young man wouldn't dash to NCIS again in the state he was in. Ducky had given him house arrest and Gibbs would enforce this – make it a another of his rules, if that's what it took to keep his agents in bed when they were as sick as McGee was now.

_A valet, indeed! _

He snorted and took another sip of his coffee. He relished the aroma of fresh coffee, the feel of the hot liquid passing his esophagyus, continuing its way down to his stomach.

Ducky was right – and so was Abby: he _did _enjoy having Tim run to his beck and call, like his servant, even if, sometimes, he couldn't shake this picture of McGee acting more like a faithful dog. No, the huge, melancholy eyes weren't helping, either.  
He knew Tim wouldn't dare to complain and would do anything to please his boss. So he'd taken McGee anywhere he went and at any time, be it day-time or night-time.

Everybody knew that McGee could never keep up with his way of living. It was painfully obvious, too, how the young man was withering away.  
Lately, before things had started to run out of hand, Tim was often caught nodding or napping with sheer exhaustion and he, Gibbs, was responsible for this deplorable state.

It was fine for as long as he was still wearing the mitella for his dislocated shoulder. But now? No, there really was no need and he could easily call Tony or Ziva for emergencies. So why was it, that he kept McGee close at hand during investigations or virtually press-ganged him into working late while the others had long left for home?  
Was it really simply because he could get away with it? Because he knew that this man was so inate conscientious about everything he did that questioning his boss's motives would never even enter his mind?

Ducky, seeing how the younger man was lost in thought, had sauntered to the well stocked bookshelves that served as a wall dividing the room into two.

Checking the titles, he found them somewhat lacking in variety: computers, mathematics, philosophy, more computers... Did the boy never relax with a good read?

"_All very interesting and entertaining for a computer geek like young Timothy, maybe, but..._" Ducky checked in surprise. Oh dear, what was he just thinking?

"Well, well, well! What do we have here...'_Digital Fortress_' by Dan Brown. Mmm..." Ducky took the book and read the backcover.

Trust young Timothy to read a novel about...encryption. How fascinating. Nevertheless, why not give it a try. He settled with the book in the armchair by the window.

-

It was getting dark outside and the streetlights went on. The two men had finished dinner and were in the act of washing the dishes – no point leaving it all for Tim to do - when they were startled from their companionable chatter by the sound of moans which grew in strength to a full-blown scream which ended abruptly. At the same time a thud was heard from the adjacent bedroom.

They rushed from behind the kitchen counter and burst through the bedroom door, letting the light from the livingroom illuminate the scene. Their eyes went first to the bed, and, finding it empty, to the left side where Tim was slowly picking himself up from the floor, a look of confusion on his pale face.

They ran to him and helped him sit down on the bed. Ducky sat beside him, while Gibbs kneeled in front of his man and cupped Tim's face in his hands, closely watching him for signs of distress.

"I...I..kept falling...fell out of my bed. Is all. Nightmare... you know, afraid..." He mumbled, his body still shaking.

"I know, Tim. Heights. You don't like heights."

Tim closed his eyes and carefully shook his head in response.

"How are you feeling, lad?" Ducky asked, as Tim lay back down, pulling the blankets over him and resting his left arm over his forehead.

"Not too bad. Headache's gone. Just tired... Oh, and trying to catch my breath back." He took a couple of deep breaths.

"Look, Timothy. I think you should try and eat something. If you feel up to it, of course. No use forcing it into you if you'll only bring it up again."

Tim opened one eye and then the other, humor finding its way back to them, and he grinned. Actually grinned!

Both Ducky and Gibbs smiled with relief.

Gibbs got up and made for the kitchen to get the ingredients for a light meal.

Ducky rose to his feet, too, and watched his patient run both hands over his face before pushing himself to a sitting position, bare legs over the side of his bed, waiting, no doubt, till the initial wave of dizziness passed before venturing up on his feet.

Eventually, Tim stood next to his bed, still leaning his legs against it till he found his balance, and started to walk towards the door a little unsteadily.

"Woa-how..." He muttered and threw out his arm to the doorjamb. Ducky quickly steadied him, supporting him by his elbow. "Bit wobbly, Duck..."

"Give it time, Timothy, just take it easy. "

McGee smiled and gently extracted his arm from Ducky's grip as he padded slowly towards the kitchen and sat down on a stool in the small space.

The two older men just remained standing, looking down on him as he accepted the offered yoghurt mixed with fruit and took a spoonful of the stuff.

Feeling the eyes of his boss and the ME fixed on him, he gazed up, his face one big question, wondering if he had all of a sudden grown a pair of antennas like some insect.

"What?"

Gibbs stared at him for another 30 seconds, until Tim grew increasingly uncomfortable, and then walked to the door where he turned on his heels to face his agent again.

"McGee?"

Tim swallowed and cleared his throat, for the first time feeling slightly embarrassed as it registered that both men had brought him home, put him to bed and nursed him.

"I'm good, boss."

Gibbs looked beyond Tim, where Ducky stood waiting, and then back at Tim, who rolled his eyes, knowing full well what silent message was passed between the two.

"Really." He insisted with as much aplomb as he could muster.

But Gibbs still stood there like rooted, hand on the doorknob, fixing Tim with that '_if you dare lie to me_' look.

"I promise I will eat, sleep, and stay here until Ducky thinks me well enough to go back to work."

"That means: no playing on that computer of yours, neither. Got that?"

"_Jeez,_" McGee thought irritably, "_you'd think he's my dad!_"

"No, sir... I mean, boss." Tim grumbled.

At last convinced that his agent would use the brains he was born with and do as he promised, Gibbs walked out the door, knowing Tim would be in good hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Chapter 5**

Tim felt considerably better when he left the elevator and entered the squad room after two more days of recuperating rest.

At the familiar ding, Tony raised his head expectantly and his face lit up as he noticed the spring having returned in his Probie's step. Yeah, this was more like it. Apparently, the forced house arrest had done a wealth of good and McGee did look more like his old self again as he walked to his desk and swung off his backpack to dump it beside his chair.

As he booted his computers, he exhaled with a contented smile and directed his gaze to Tony and Ziva.

"Kayyy...So, what have I missed? I don't expect you got the case wrapped up in my absence, so can anyone fill me in?"

At that moment, Gibbs approached him and flopped a file down on Tim's desk, all the time subjecting his agent to a close scrutiny. Satisfied at seeing before him an agent that looked rested and eager to get back to doing his job, he volunteered: "Take your time to read this. It's all we got so far – which is little enough."

As Gibbs turned around to bound up the stairs to the director's floor, he shot over his shoulder: "I hope you can shed a light on this. We've got nothing connecting to a crime, here."

Both Tony and Ziva offered Tim a sympathetic smile before hurrying down to Abby's lab, leaving Tim to do some catching-up.

He rested his head in his palm as he skimmed the pages and examined both the already filed evidence, as well as what his computer came up with via the network.

About an hour later, he was so engrossed in his reading, that he barely registered someone had been so considerate to fetch him a coffee, a sprinkled donut in a paper bag sitting next to it. It brought a smile on his face and he took the sticky donut in his hand and started munching as he continued working through the evidence, only pausing long enough to go to the restroom to wash the stickiness off his hands and, whilst he was there, relieve himself.

To all appearances, both Lorraine Daring and the young midshipman, Hugh Pellowe, had vanished without a trace.

He next focused on the cellular phone evidence, but what information NCIS had gathered so far gave no indication of the presumed whereabouts of both young people. They had determined the two had still been in touch with one another after Lorraine's disappearance. He would go through the GPS search results in more detail later.

Onto the interviews then. According to what the investigators had gleaned from the accounts, there was no mention of any problems between the couple, although the parents might differ on this. I was a public secret they thought their daughter was wasting her time on that no good punk.

In short: they had nothing. Zilch.

And yet... what was it? Oh yes!

McGee's fingers danced over the keyboard with such virtuosity and various screens popped up.

His eyes widened with recognition: there it was! The call history from both cell phones had already established they kept at least in touch, and, from the way things looked, this could hardly be regarded as an abduction. No, what _did_ attract his attention was that the GPS showed near identical locations.

"So they were together," he mused.

The screen offered locations SE of Norfolk, more specifically Virginia Beach. One call from Southside Road to a location on Norfolk Avenue. Could mean... the marina? Rudee Inlet Marinas lay close-by. This was too much of a coincidence.

He groaned with vexation.

The data was at least four days old. Because of the time interval, they could be anywhere. Most probably halfway the Atlantic, for all he knew!

This thought was cause enough for him to groan some more.

That meant '_boats_'. He hated them and their rolling, stomping, dipping motion... that got his insides also into a motion of its own.

More importantly: what had his co-workers done with this information? He searched for the rest of the file, but, nope – this was all they had.

There was no sign they had gone down to Virginia Beach – or the marina – to follow up on this, what was in his eyes, an important clue.

He jotted down some notes for later reference.

Next, he brought up a set of photographs, processed by Abby, on his screen, showing a young man, strongly resembling Pellowe, dragging a girl against her will. The scene had attracted bystanders who had recorded this occurrence on their cell phones five days ago at the Janaf mall. It fitted in with the pair of them on their way to Virginia Beach. However, after enlarging them and minimizing the grain and 'dust', it revealed this was no link to this case. The thoroughly analyzed pictures showed this was not the couple they were after.

Tim sat back in his chair, fingers laced at the back of his head and eyes closed, as he mentally sifted through the data. The only valuable clues, so far, were the cell phone tracings. So it stood to reason to pick up the investigation there.

"Thanks, Abbs." Gibbs put the receiver back down with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he observed how his agent startled from his reverie, but, to his credit, recovered himself fast enough as he shared his ideas with his boss.

"I'll check the web cams near the locations. And the Virginia DOT Traffic cameras for Pellowe's car. We don't have much to go on, but this is the best course of action, right now."

He put the findings on the plasma and got up to stand beside Gibbs as he continued explaining.

"I think th..."

"_Think_? McGee?" Gibbs cut in with deadpan humor.

Tim frowned, his eyes goggling so much one could actually see the whites.

He puffed out his cheeks before continuing.

"There's a _chance_..." he pushed on, not going to let himself be bothered by Gibbs' ironic remark. "... a _big_ chance that they have taken a boat to get away." He nodded, warming more and more to this idea... except for the actual boat thing, which made him cringe.

He tapped his lips and mumbled. "Lorraine owns a smart phone. It's a relative new one. She hadn't synced it with her computer, yet, but I can still extract the embedded file system. Check her browsing history..."

Retreating to his desk, he spent the rest of the day hidden behind his screens, checking and double checking anything of evidenciary value obtained from the internal data system of the cell phones, comparing analysises, ... all of which had him convinced more than ever that the couple had embarked on a voyage.

He buried his head in his hands, already feeling miserable. Then, with all the willpower he possessed, he brushed his aversion to all things afloat aside and took his overview of evidence to Gibbs, all the while hoping Director Vance would come down requesting his help at MTAC.

Anything that would keep him with his feet firm on dry land.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

They had set of for Virginia Beach early in the morning.

As it turned out to be: the evidence collected from the DOD, webcams and security feeds from Rudee's had already been a great help, but a call to the harbor authorities had been the most conclusive, which was why they found themselves on board of a motor yacht they'd '_commandeered_'.

The situation meritted some inauspicious handling, as they still were unsure of what the young couples reactions would be if caught.

It was a bright, sunny morning when they slowly motored out of the calm waters of the marina, but as soon as they were on the open sea, the swell became more pronounced, white caps topping the waves.

One agent had popped one Dramamine after the other to quelch the rising nausea. However, it was a losing battle. Oh, it wasn't so much the nausea being the real problem, now. No. The drug was making him so drowsy and unstable that he had the others on board sigh in desperation as he stumbled about, making himself more of a liability than any help on the case.

The yacht plunged into one more trough, sending spray over the bows, the refracted light displaying shimmering rainbow sparkles, the ethereal effect lasting only a fraction.

However, none on board had an eye for this.

By now, the skipper had had enough of the tall ungainly man who bumped into almost everything with every move he made. At some point, McGee had lost his balance and tipped over the skipper's mug, spilling its contents all over his papers. The skipper was not amused. To the team, with the exception of a barely cognizant McGee, it would therefore come to no surprise at all if the captain had every intention of putting McGee over the side, little caring if they were leagues aways from the nearest land.

So Tony had quickly stepped in and, with a cheesy grin on his face, he had taken Tim by his sleeve and steered him belowdecks to lie down in one of the bunks, thus effectively putting McGee out of harm's way.

There was a general sigh of relief when that obstacle had been effectively removed and the skipper breathed more easily as he didn't have to keep a constant eye on that poor excuse of a federal agent. i]Naval[/] Criminal Investigative Service indeed! What an abomination. He snorted and shook his head derisively. Landlubbers.

Before soon, though, they noticed a change in the weather. The occasional glance directed at the skipper showed he was beginning to worry, too.

The Navtex rattled and he ripped off the incoming message.

His face stood grim as he turned to address Gibbs, showing him the slip of paper from KB3MXL Base - Reisterstown, Maryland.

GALE WARNING TUESDAY 28 SEPTEMBER 1538UTC

"A meteorological warning that we'll be in the dead center of a squall sooner than expected. Be ready to hold fast, boys! We're in for some rough time, soon."

Gibbs gazed over the blue expanse of ocean. The horizon did indeed seem darker than when they'd embarked upon this voyage.

The two young people had set sail three days ago and a Coastguard helicopter had had a first sighting of the small vessel as it was on a southbound course. As not to alert those on board, the Coastguards had merely reported the position to the agency and that's where they were now heading to.

The boat, that was put at the agents' disposal, could easily top speeds of over 30 knots and definitely made a much faster boat than the sailing yacht, but it would still take time to overhaul them.

The worsening weather conditions, however, were an absolute killjoy.

Ziva, becoming increasingly worried for her teammate, to whom this forthcoming ordeal would soon turn into sheer hell, hurried belowdecks to check on him.

She found him in the gloom of the small cabin, on his back with one arm flung over his brow, his one leg more or less stretched out for as far as he could (bunks weren't exactly built for tall people), the other bent with the knee leaning against the wall. He'd discarded his shoes, the standard issued NCIS jacket and his tie – or maybe Tony had helped him out of those. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and a blanket was spread over the lower half of his body. What little she saw of his face was not encouraging. His cheeks were pasty-colored and his lips were compressed and livid. She noticed his suprasternal notch was displayed to advantage. Her gaze shifted slightly to the side of his neck where a vein throbbed.

Her breath hitched. She'd never looked at him – really '_looked_'. She just stood there, rooted, her legs unwilling to propel her back out and topside.

His chest rose and sank with uneven breaths. So he was awake.

He still managed to startle her when he spoke, even if his voice was no more than a whisper.

"What is it, Ziva? Did Gibbs send you to get me?"

"Did I wake you up, McGee?"

He laughed bitterly when he replied: "No, Ziva, you didn't. Wished I _could_ sleep. I'm so freaking tired but I... My body, my mind... they have other ideas it seems. Can't switch them off." Still in a languid voice and a little slurred, whether from the drugs or for want of sleep, she couldn't tell.

He shifted his hand from across his eyes to drape it over his stomach and gazed at her by only moving his eyes, still waiting for an answer.

Ah, those beautiful green eyes... But they looked tired and she wondered if, maybe, he hadn't yet fully recovered from his recent illness.

"I just came to check on you, Tim, no more. Please try to catch some sleep. We still haven't caught up with them, ... and it doesn't look like we will very soon, anyway. We're all of us waiting. So you see, you don't miss anything. Except the beautiful vista of the surrounding ocean." She added with a wide grin. She did, however, refrain from telling him the bad news... that of the approaching gale. News that she knew would get him doubled over the side of his cot in no time.

She patted his shoulder – she had never done such thing before, she realized with a slight shock.

"Just... you just rest. Give a yell when you need anything."

She turned to leave and had her foot on the first step of the stairs when she heard his mumbled reply.

"Yeah... as if I'd do that..."

She smiled inwardly and continued her ascend.

***

_One hour later._

The wind was picking up something big and massive rollers were all around them, assaulting them. The sky had darkened to such an extent that it seemed they had leaped a couple of hours, making it much later in the day than it actually was.

Gibbs' thoughts went out to the young couple in the sailing yacht and how they were doing some real extreme sailing now. From reading the files, he knew Pellowe was more than just the average yachtsman, but this storm with windspeeds of at around 40-55 knots would become quite the challenge even for someone with his experience.

He braced himself as the boat went into a motion pretty much resembling a corkscrew.

There was a clatter, a thump, a surprised shout and a curse coming from the stairs and they all turned towards the origin of this racket. The faces showed little surprise when they saw a dishevelled and pale McGee make his rather theatrical appearance.

The skipper rolled his eyes before turning his full attention back at the helm, instantly dismissing that landlubber of a Fed.

McGee went hand over hand to the nearest seat and gratefully sank down on it with a plop.

Tony and Ziva stared at him, their mouths agape.

Gibbs was not impressed and gave his agent a hard look.

"What d'you think you're doing?" He yelled above the roaring storm.

"Ah..."

Gibbs didn't wait for an answer and motioned McGee away with his head.

"Go back to your bunk and stay there! There's nothing for you to do here apart from being in danger of going overboard!"

Tim acquiesced mutely, and, like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, he tottered back down with such exagerated care it was almost comical. Tony followed from behind wanting to make sure his partner got there without any mishaps.

***

_Another hour later._

"I see something! Ah... u'mmm... at 2 o'clock!" Tony yelled, lowering the binoculars to look at the skipper and Gibbs. He staggered a little and leaned against the side of the cabin, spreading his legs for a better balance.

He wasn't used to the 'points' system even if the captain had explained it to them, earlier on, after a distress call was emitted on the VHF, presumably by the craft they were after.

It was vital, the captain had lectured them briefly as he checked their current position on the electronic chart, that they kept a look-out and that the person in charge be concise in his or her assessing any situation.

The fact they had received the distress call was an excellent clue the estimated reception range was at least within 14 miles, which meant the yacht was to be found withing this radius, as well as still on the same course.

For a long time, Tony couldn't make out anything but the vast mass of churling water, but then he saw it. It was no more than a pinprick, really. The masthead light was a mere white fleck that was only visible when the motor yacht was on a wave crest before plunging down again in the trough that followed it.

Now, they knew for certain that they were a lot closer with visuals 5 points on the starboard bow – or 2 o'clock as Tony preferred.

The skipper passed the wheel to Ziva as he went over to Tony and grabbed a second pair of binoculars to peer in the general direction of where Tony's finger was still pointing, as instructed.

The skipper leaned into Tony as he shouted. "Keep it in sight, agent DiNozzo! Don't loose her!"

He went back to the wheel, and adjusted his course.

More static on the radio and then the message: "_Mayday-mayday-mayday! This is the Andromeda.._."

And the message was broken off abruptly.

Tony gazed intently through his binoculars, then moved them left and right, blinked, searched again and finally turned around to admit he'd lost sight of the sail.

The skipper checked his radar but he couldn't make out a thing through the showers and waves. He knew it was futile. Reducing the rain clutter had little or no effect... He knew from experience that it didn't make any difference at all, since small vessels were filtered away just the same, provided they made it on the radar anyway.

All he could do was keep his course and an excellent pair of eyes... like Tony's. Sooner, rather than later, they would be on top of the small yacht.

A flash of lightning illuminated the boiling ocean and his eyes went wide before he steered hard to port.

That's when all hell broke loose – if such a thing could happen on a watery expanse!


	7. Chapter 7

**LIKE IT WAS MEANT TO BE**

**Chapter 7**

The cruiser's bows dived into another steep trough and, then, on the up-roll, even with the poor visibility from the torrential rain, a monster of a wave loomed before them, like a solid wall of water. The NCIS agents' eyes, however, with the exception of the youngest who still lay totally out in his bunk, were transfixed as, dead ahead, they caught sight of the spectre of a small craft. Dismasted and adrift, it was wallowing in the surging water and, right now, they were almost on top of it as they had inadvertently been on a collision course.

Despite the skipper's split second decision of steering hard to starboard, it still came as no big surprise when, 10 seconds later – it could be even less – there was the most horrendous sound of metal crunching into a GRP hull as their boat crashed into the heeling yacht's beam. Capsizing would've been nigh impossible with the weighted keel. Now, however, any chance of the smaller sailing yacht righting itself, had vanished as the larger motorboat crashed into it, damaging both vessels at the same time.

The captain hastened down, taking two steps at a time, his hands sliding along the rails. In the salon, he stooped to open a trapdoor. A groggy and harassed looking agent hung on for dear life to the door frame of the forward cabin and stared with horror at the water that had now flooded the engine compartment. He blinked a few times as if to clear his eyes. It could have been just that, too, as he vigorously rubbed at a colored patch on his forehead. In all probability, he'd tumbled out of his berth and hit something which explained the bump already forming just above his brow.

Both men's eyes locked and then the captain took in McGee's state, wondering, not for the first time, why the hell they had taken this useless lubber on board.

However, time was pretty precious now, and without further preamble he barked: "Put your life jacket back on! We may have to abandon ship! I want everybody topside!" The suddenly widening green eyes had him wondering if he was dealing with a frightened, if big, kid instead of a seasoned federal agent.

Without bothering if the young agent had grasped his instructions, he turned back to mount the stairs.

McGee gulped as a wave of panic washed over him, making his stomach contract. He spun around on unsteady legs and was lucky to land, butt first, on the U-shaped settee. Tim quickly got up and scampered back into the cabin to retrieve his shoes. Even if it didn't prove easy to put the shoes back on, they still might serve in keeping him from cooling down too fast. The cruiser rocked violently, causing him to lose his balance and connect hard with the door as it slammed shut. Keeping one hand to the bunk, he hastily wriggled into the life jacket, turned the knob to open the door again, and stumbled through the salon, heading for the companionway.

Meanwhile, the captain bolted back into the cockpit. He knew the pumps were still working, but it would be of little or no use – the water was rising steadily but surely. It was only a matter of time before his boat would go down to Davy Jones' locker. If only he could keep those landlubbery morons alive through this.

"We're taking water!" The skipper yelled above the raging ocean as he opened the lid of a storage locker under a seat and started lifting out a first aid kit and a rather conspicuously colored backpack.

Slinging the backpack over his shoulder and tucking the medical kit under his arm, he regarded the agents, who soon found themselves set to work as deckhands as he rattled off instructions of how best they could help those on board the small yacht, equally in distress, and launching the canister holding the inflatable life raft. In the meantime, he transmitted a distress signal on the MF band of 2182 kHz, providing his vessel's name and call letters, number of people aboard,...whatever information might help locate them for rescuing.

As he deftly unfastened the EPIRB – a device transmitting signals via satellite giving their current position - from it's cockpit holder to take it with him in the life boat, his thoughts went to the young people on board the little sailing yacht. What had they been thinking? What drove them out on the Atlantic? Whom were they running from? He'd already deduced the Feds were showing more concern for their wellbeing than they would ever consider offering a perp of some horrible crime.

Down below, McGee struggled hard – very hard – to keep a hold on himself. The nausea had come back with a vengeance. It was so overwhelming that he felt like his stomach was making somersaults, in pace with the rolling, stomping, pitching motion of the boat. He genuinely wished he'd flip over and die. Such was his abject misery.

He clutched the rail and set to mount the companion ladder when a hand appeared in his field of vision. Looking up, panting and trying hard to control his breathing, he was relieved to see a rather serious Tony who was about to come down in search of him, with Ziva craning her neck to stare down from beside the senior agent.

"Tim! Hurry up, man! We've got to get into the life boat real fast!"

McGee nearly laughed, albeit hysterically, thinking it quite the joke as, right now, he was standing in about three inches of sloshing water still bubbling up from below his rather wet feet.

Tony reached out for him to help him up the companionway as the boat listed more with every passing second. Tim quickly took a hold of Tony's extended hand to let him be pulled up on deck. Another rogue wave caught the boat and it tossed violently about like some living creature – leading its own life.

Tim couldn't help but think this was one hell of a roller coaster – rather a cross with a cake walk on a fancy fair. But then he was roughly jolted back to this urgent reality and he tightened his grip on Tony's hand and the rail. It became increasingly difficult to keep his balance as the boat was now on it's beams and the water was all around him. He slipped and he was submerged but then his feet found some purchase and, spluttering and gasping, he emerged and looked up at his partner. His arms were shaking with the strain and the cold, frigid water. His hands were freezing and his teeth were chattering.

To his utmost horror, Tony felt Tim's fingers ever so slowly, but surely, slip between his own. He gritted his teeth and his eyes sought his partner's as he endeavored to re-establish his grip on Tim's slender fingers. Tim's eyes were imploring his friend, silently begging him not to give up, to get him out of this – soon to become his watery grave – and there was such understanding in Tony's. He would never give up on his friend and co-worker. How could he ever explain this weird bond he shared with Tim? This surrogate brother he couldn't help but tease, badger, intimidate,... Deep down, he cared. He really did – a lot. No way would he let Tim down.

One more good, hearty pull and he would have McGee up on deck and...relative safety. Of course they would still be far from safe, but, hey, they stood a better chance to get in the life boat and survival!

"Tim! C'mon! Hold tight, man!" He shouted and growled at the same time, urging the younger man to rally. He sensed his teammate's strength was waning fast and that the water had a stronger pull on him.

All of a sudden, something crashed and Tim was struck in the side by an object making him let go of his hold on Tony's hand. Tony watched Tim's eyes widen in terror and yet his mouth was set in determination, unwilling to give up so easily.

Tony lost sight of his friend as the water had now flooded the whole below decks, trapping McGee. He made to descend the companionway to get closer so that he could thrust his arm in the water and grope for his friend, when somebody pulled him from behind.

"Let's go!"

"No! McGee..." Tony fought against whoever dragged him by his arm.

"He's gone! No time to loose! We must go! NOW! She's going deep six - fast!"

It was the captain, Tony dully observed as he very – very! - reluctantly let himself be pushed towards the gunnel and the little life raft.

***

Still inside, McGee knew he was lost if he couldn't get rid of the PFD. Its buoyancy was all fine when in open water. Inside a sinking vessel, however... He was pushed upwards against the ceiling and because of the angle of the boat at this point, there was no way he could get fast enough to the stairs and drag himself by the rail to the deck. Besides, he was fast running out of oxygen. He'd barely managed a quick intake of air before he was engulfed by the water.

Tim, his fingers becoming more uncooperative, finally succeeded in unbuckling the PFD and he kicked his legs to propulse himself towards the light filtering in from the companionway. His left leg hurt. He must have hit it against something and he had somehow banged his head against the ceiling...He wasn't sure any longer.

His lungs were bursting and little stars darted in his vision. He didn't know how much longer he could keep his breath, but eventually he made it out.

The others were now yards away from the cruiser and the distance was steadily growing.

McGee crawled on the slanting deck to the side and heaved himself over the gunnel, to land rather unceremoniously in the water.

With his dwindling strength, he swam towards the life raft, waves crashing over his head, making him splutter. He was so tired and his muscles were stiffening with cold, making his movements sluggish. He knew he would be lost, if he gave up now.

Nearly there. It was only a matter of feet and Ziva and Tony were already reaching out for him, readying themselves to grab him and pull him aboard.

"Tim! C'm-Ooonnnn!" Tony cheered him on.

"Swim, McGee! You can do it!" Gibbs called out from somewhere under the canopy, hidden behind his senior agent.

"C'mon-common-commonnnnn..." Ziva was praying, fingering her star of David necklace nervously.

McGee's teeth chattered. There was no way he could stop them from doing that. Another wave rolled over him. He choked when he got a mouthful of water as he took a deep breath. It was too much effort, so exhausting and he knew that his strength was dwindling fast. More water found a way into his open mouth, making him cough harshly – his body's reaction to expel the fluids from his lungs. He found it harder and harder to fight the pull towards the deep... His movements became slower and sluggish, erratic... His breaths were irregular, short and shallow with the occasional deeper one to feed his lungs with oxygen...if he could manage that much. He was getting closer to being disoriented, barely moving anymore.

One last time, he locked desperate eyes with Tony before he blacked out and slipped beneath the waves.

A trail of blood and air bubbles followed McGee down as the ocean closed above him, obliterating any sign of him. Like a pall...

There was a stunned silence in the little raft, as a horrible realization hit them that this could be the last the NCIS team had seen of their friend. It was even more tangible as the clouds were dissipating. The storm, that had been battering them with heavy seas and finally engulfed their boat, continued its path to wreck havoc elsewhere, closing in on the distant coast. The anthracite dark clouds, which had previously blotted out the blue sky, had, just as suddenly dissolved. It felt all so unreal. This calm after the squall.

Even the captain was humbled by such a natural phenomenon, not having experienced the likes of it before. At least, never when on a trip with his small yacht.


	8. Chapter 8

**LIKE IT WAS MEANT TO BE**

**Chapter 8**

Gibbs was the first to recover and in no time he'd undone his life jacket before squirming past the others, now holding onto one person's shoulder for support, then wrapping his fingers around the life lines.

He dove as close as possible to the spot where they'd last seen their teammate. Tony raised on his feet to follow, but the skipper withheld him by forcing him down again, holding Tony's gaze with a shake of his head.

"Don't." Plain and simple. Why spill more words? He busied himself tying the activated EPIRB on the exterior lines.

"But..." Ziva protested.

"No! Face it: your friend is a goner. And your boss, will soon be, too." He leaned back and shrugged before continuing. "Not a clever thing he did – jumping after the other one. Can't have more risking their lives for just one man."

Both Ziva and Tony saw the sense in what he said, and they had to admit the man was just being realistic, but still... For the love of God! This was their comrade he was talking about!

"One man? Just one man? He's our friend! " Ziva yelled, just this side of controlling her fury at this man's rather callous remark - devoid of any feeling. "What's more: Gibbs, our boss, is a marine. He will always have our sixes!"

"Always!" She added sadly as she stared at the spot where the water had closed over McGee's head and Gibbs, as he'd dived in shortly afterwards.

"Next time you'll be thinking twice who you'll take with you on a...on such a mission... It was pathetic. That man was a liability to himself and to others. It's all fine if tourists puke their guts out...good for the fish...but an agent? Naval? What a joke!"

Tony blanched and sought to get at the man. For God's sake! A man might lose his life here and another in his attempt to rescue him! He didn't even want to consider the possibility that his Probie might be dead already! His eyes were frosty with the barely contained anger as he stared at the water, his lips clamped shut for fear of losing what little self control he still possessed, and folded his arms, with hands fisted, across his chest, as he sat there, in the now gently rocking craft.

The skipper, however, was utterly unaware of the intense feelings he'd stirred in the remaining team members as he'd already retreated in his own bleak thoughts. Losing a boat...his boat... Not the most luxurious, but all his. He couldn't forget the last minute when she went down, stern first, her bows upright and proud...a bit like in that Titanic movie, only...there the bows had gone first.

He sighed. The end had been quick.

Ziva was staring at the young couple, who, still in shock, huddled for warmth. Pellowe had wrapped a blanket around them both and his arm lay protectively on the girl's shoulders as she clung to him, like she was never ever going to let go of him.

Ziva's thoughts were a jumble of emotions. She couldn't believe she'd just lost her best friend...someone dear to her, and another good man had jumped after Tim... And for what? For those two who were, figuratively as well as literally, in the same boat as them and that because of their selfish act of...of...flitting?

Her thoughts went back to that moment when they'd cut loose the line of the life raft. She had kept her eyes locked on the sinking vessel, hoping against hope that McGee would still manage to free himself and clamber up on deck... In fact, he did...only a little late to play it safe.

Then, after the collision, there were their two runaways, Lorraine Daring and Hugh Pellowe, clinging to the remains of their boat, shivering and scared.

The skipper had delved in the backpack he'd taken with him into the raft and produced a rope, with a monkey's fist attached to the end. He had given it a few small swings until he finally let it fly in the direction of the other castaways. Pellowe had been able to catch the rope and fasten it on the piece of wreckage he and Lorraine were on.

The skipper and Gibbs made quick work of pulling the two young people to the life raft and help them on board. And it was just in time.

Now, she looked away from them in disgust and her eyes rested on Tony who was all attention and excitement as his gaze was fixed on a disturbance in the water.

Suddenly, a hand, followed by the rest of a body, broke through the surface with a deep and loud intake of breath, followed by harsh coughing and thrashing.

Gibbs' wild eyes sought the raft as he kicked his legs to remain afloat with the extra dead weight of McGee.

There was a flurry of activity as the skipper tossed a line to Gibbs who just managed to grab a hold of it. The captain towed Gibbs and his...uncooperative burden...closer.

Tony and Pellowe both sprang into action and grabbed at McGee whom Gibbs was pushing as close to the raft as possible as he himself held onto the raft's lifelines.

Clutching hands pulled a seemingly lifeless Tim over the side and he landed like a sack in the bottom. Tony and Pellowe quickly set to stripping him, before encasing his torso in a blanket.

Ziva immediately knelt by the still form of her co-worker and checked for breathing and a pulse. She was near to panic when finding neither, but then, after what seemed like a very long time, she did feel a heartbeat, albeit very weak and slow...much too slow... She didn't waste any more time and set to practising CPR on McGee. It wasn't an easy thing to do as the bottom of the life boat wasn't exactly flat and solid.

Tony, meanwhile, helped an exhausted and struggling Gibbs back on board. Both men ended up sitting side by side: one shuddering badly and breathing heavily with fatigue and the other letting out an immense sigh of relief as he looked sideways at his boss. But when his gaze travelled over to Ziva, stooped over McGee, very slowly mouth-to-mouth breathing for him, and then starting compressions, and continuing this activity over and over again, he felt sick inside. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gibbs also watching the scene with dread.  
Probie still wasn't breathing on his own... Just the rising and falling of his chest as Ziva kept up exhaling in Tim's mouth, holding his chin and nose.

Tony moved over to them and pulled his friend's eyelids open to check the pupils. Dilated. Not a good sign... Not good at all. But that was only to be expected. He grabbed Tim's hand, which, like the rest of his body, felt rigid. It was so cold... McGee's slight built certainly didn't help to keep some body heat.

He knew Ziva was tiring and he took over the treatment, trying to remember the special classes he – as every NCIS agent got – had attended. There still was no improvement. No visible vital signs.

Tony took up a better position and exhaled his own warm moist air in his friend's mouth...out...'don't give up'...in...out...'never give up'...in...compressions...breathing...compressions..."don't give up, Probie"...

Ziva took over the breathing whilst Tony continued compressing the heart, keeping a steady rhythm...for as long as it would take... Tony angrily brushed his sleeve over his face to wipe away a tear. Then he pressed again on the sternum. With every compression, the survivors felt the bottom of the life raft depress.

Gibbs, despite the dire situation, and him shivering badly, couldn't feel anything but pride seeing how Ziva and Tony were working in tandem, doing everything in their power to save their friend and teammate.

He sighed as he closed his eyes, unable to get rid of the sight of this deathly pale and blue McGee. "The boy, already looks past saving...dead already..." What? Where did that come from? His eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, all forgotten about his own discomfort.

Tony's gaze flitted towards his boss as he caught from the corner of his eyes the sudden jolting movement the other man made. What he saw, was not encouraging. Gibbs' shivering became more pronounced and gave no sign of abating, which wasn't too bad. It meant his body still found the necessary energy to generate and increase some heat. The question was: how long before he would succumb to the inevitable exhaustion?

Ziva followed his gaze before turning her eyes back to Tony, still continuing her ministrations.  
Tony and Ziva kept up the CPR on their partner. They knew it was out of question to stop, fully understanding it would mean the end for Tim if they did.  
The captain moved to sit next to Gibbs who was still shivering badly despite the blanket wrapped around him. As soon as he'd been helped on board, the captain and Pellowe had helped him out of his wet clothes as gently as possible, before wrapping him in a blanket.

Gibbs slid further down the side of the raft as his eyes closed. The skipper, having kept a vigilant eye on the other occupants of the raft, including Gibbs, had known the man was getting worse. He huddled closer to share his own body heat with the other man who was now drifting in and out of consciousness. Things weren't looking too good for Gibbs, either.

They all settled as best they could, having no idea how fast rescue was in coming or what chance of survival the young agent – and his boss - had.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The raft bobbed gently on the waves. Any sign of the squall had vanished, as if it never happened. Like a bad dream. Only... this was no dream, but the hard and cruel reality.

All occupants sat or lay in total silence, each and everyone lost in their thoughts. That is...with the exception of the captain and the two unconscious NCIS agents who lay side by side, both of them stripped to their boxers and wrapped in blankets that were tucked around them from just below the groin all the way up including the head, to keep them from losing any more of what little warmth there was left in their still bodies.

The skipper had now taken over from Ziva and Tony, allowing both to take a rest. There wasn't much he could do, except keeping the young agent's core from cooling down any further and making sure any excess movement or jostling was avoided. The skipper had taken out a thermometer from his first aid kit and measured the rectal temperature – the closest alternative to a tympanic reading - which had, unsurprisingly, dropped to an alarmingly low level. He knew – as did the others – that this agent's life depended on getting a transfer to a specialized medical facility pronto.

Tony, arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees, sat staring morosely at Tim, lost in thought.

This was one such an occasion when he truly wished his partner had never gone on a diet and the workouts for a fitter body.

- Flashbacks -  
_It was fun teasing chubby "baby fat – puppy faced" Tim when he was a lowly probie on Gibbs' MCRT. Later, when Tony saw the pounds drop off, he secretly congratulated his coworker for his determination to do something about his weight. But the slimming down had turned into something close to an obsession to Tim – and a bother to Tony – with the result that the jokes became more tinged with snideness by the day._

_Tony'd never forget the look on McGee's face when he'd told the younger man that he was much funnier when he was fat, nor that time when he'd told Tim he was getting more "Kate Mossish"._

_No, McGee was not amused._

_Later that day, Tony had caught his friend standing in front of the mirror in the men's room, staring at his reflection in silent resentment of the way Tony saw him – and God knew how many others. Tony did what he thought was best at the time: ignore Tim, do his business and leave._

_Then, one Friday night, when the friends had gathered at their favorite pub, and McGee's weight-loss had been broached, Tim had calmly explained to the others how the doctor at the annual check-up had strongly recommended him to do something about the overweight. It wasn't that dramatic, but for a field agent, he was told to take better care of his body._

_A couple of weeks later after work, Tony had taken himself down to the pool for a swim. The few times he'd felt the need to de-stress by doing his couple of lengths, he'd been mostly alone. On this occasion, there was another person already there.  
Tony barely took notice of the other individual in the water, other than that the man was of an athletic built and performing a relaxed, yet strong breaststroke. Length upon length. Seemingly __untiring and effortless, pushing through the unresisting water in straight lines with regular, deliberately slow strokes._

_At intervals, Tony would lean on the side to catch his breath while watching the streamlining of the other occupant of the pool: from his long reaching fingers, body stretching all the way down to his long legs and toes. Unerringly keeping a regular rhythm.  
To Tony, the man appeared to be an well trained swimmer. It didn't take an expert to notice the ease at which the other was taking his turns, pushing off the pool-wall, gliding through the water before breaking through the surface again to resume the stroke cycle.  
The man never took a break until he considered he'd completed the laps he had set himself to do._

_It wasn't until he'd hoisted his lithe body out of the water, onto the edge, and turned around facing the pool again while running one hand through his hair, that Tony recognized the mystery swimmer. The sleek, flat abdomen, and long limbed man staring back at him in mutual and utter surprise was none other than his very own probie. Tim was the first to recover and after a quick nod, he made his hasty exit into the showers and changing rooms, leaving behind him a baffled, yet impressed, Tony._  
- End of flashbacks -

Now, the lack of fat proved a severe handicap to Tim. It was rather unsettling to see one's partner lying there, in the middle of the life raft, tucked in like a baby except for the extremities which were still bare...and so thoroughly devoid of color. Almost alabaster white...apart from the blueish tinge and the sustained injuries. A gash on the left leg and various cuts and abrasions on the hands and face. None were bleeding, but the gash looked deep and ugly.

To all appearances, he made the perfect candidate for a corpse on one of Ducky's autopsy-tables.

A very unwelcome thought that had Tony swallow the bile that had started to rise in his throat and draw his gaze away from his friend, just in time to see Gibbs stir.

The captain had also seen – or felt – the other of his two charges coming around and he laid a steadying hand on Gibbs' shoulder. Not that Gibbs was in any way cognisant of all that was happening around him, and not entirely awake, either.  
No. His weak flailing and movements of his lips rather bespoke of something going on in a world only he knew of.

"Nooshhhhnnn..."

Tony raised his eyebrows: "_what the...?_" and scooted closer to lay a soothing hand where the captain's had previously lain before returning his attention on Tim.

"Da...nlllnnng..."

It looked like the Boss was having quite an interesting conversation, but...with whom? Tony couldn't make out anything sensible from the slurred words Gibbs was uttering.

"NO! Won't do!"

Now that was frighteningly comprehensible, Tony thought as Gibbs suddenly struggled to sit up.

"Just hold him down, will ya?" The captain urgently hissed between his teeth, giving Tony a glare.

"Know what? Ne'er goin' back there."

Tony bent over his boss and pushed him gently down again. Gibbs' eyes had snapped open to stare intently at some point beyond his agent.

"Sshhh... Just...just... It's okay, Boss. Is okay."

"O..okay?" He blinked a few times and then managed to focus on Tony, squinting a little due to the closeness of Tony's face.

"What...?" Gibbs swallowed, licked his dry and salt crusted lips and tried again. "Tony?"

"Yeah. It's me. Now just stay down, 'kay? You need to lie down."

Gibbs' eyes closed and Tony thought he was out again...but no... the eyes had reopened.

"How's McGee...Tim...?" He turned his head to look at his youngest. He knew it was only to be expected that there would be no improvement and it chagrined him.

Tony followed his gaze and mumbled. "Not too good, Boss."

"Hmm... Take good care of him, will ya? Please?"

"Sure, but how about you?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." The recurring shudders belied that, of course, as he well knew."Bit cold, bit numb...No worries, I'll surfff...ife..."

Tony sighed and settled himself as close as he could by the team leader, hoping to transfer some of his own heat to the other.

"Why didn't you do anything?" A hereto new voice piped up.

For the first time since she'd been taken on board of the lifeboat, Lorraine Daring had finally stirred and spoken.

Ziva regarded her icily before replying: "What do you think they've been doing for the past two hours?" And she pointed at the captain and Tony.

"Yeah, but...not much use now, is it?"

"What?" Ziva couldn't believe her ears.

"Shouldn't you have rubbed the man to warm him up? Get his circulation back or something? No, instead, you just took off his clothes and left him half naked on the floor! And with the sun gone, it's getting even colder!" She sniffed derisevely and confused at the same time, if such could be possible.

Pellowe brushed at a stray lock of her hair before calmly explaining to her how things worked. He had sensed the tension in Ziva and wanted to avoid the latent hostility getting worse. He considered himself a fairly good judge of characters and it hadn't taken him long to realize the way the members of this NCIS team were closeknit – almost like a family.

"Lorraine. Massaging or rubbing to get him warm again would only serve to make his condition worse. You would only succeed in getting the cold blood from the extremities to flow to the heart, causing his body temperature to drop even more. This would surely kill him. Cardiac arrest. That's why they left his arms and legs bare, you know? To concentrate on keeping his core warm for as long as possible."

"What's the point anyway. He's dead now." She softly cried. "Why don't you people cover him? I can't stand to see his face like that!"

Tony and Ziva both had their mouths open to speak, but were beat by their boss.

"No can do, 'cause he ain't dead yet! Haven't given him permission, yet."

The mumbled reply brought a tiny, sad smile on both agents' faces. They knew exactly what he was talking about.

"B...but..." She protested.

This time, Pellowe gave her a little shake.

"Honey, as the man says, he isn't dead yet. Unconscious and, okay, in a real bad way. They're doing everything that's in their power to save him."

She was sniffing loudly now, breath hitching as panic slowly built up. And that was something that had to be nipped in the bud at all cost. Now!

Pellowe hugged her closer, offering her comfort.

"Hey sweetie, see it this way: he's sort of hibernating. It's what animals do. Reduce their body temperature to pull through the cold winters. He's quite cold now, but his heart's still beating, at a very slow rate, but still beating. He can't be warmed up too fast, now." He kept his voice soft as if talking to a frightened child. Nobody in the raft could deny the love the two fugitives shared.

"Why are they still breathing him?"

"That's warm, moist air. He needs it to survive, baby. Remember he also drowned and he must've aspirated some water. His lungs are not working as they should."

"He...he's not dead, then?" She couldn't grasp this.

"No, he isn't. He'll be just fine..." He patted her knee as he looked away from her to rest his eyes on McGee, and muttered under his breath "...if only that damned Evac would arrive..." before locking eyes with Ziva and then Tony.

They understood. They all sent silent prayers that rescue would soon arrive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Any person entering the forensic lab, down in the basement of NCIS HQ, would be quite unable to ignore the gloomy atmosphere hovering in there. Also, it was oh so quiet and dark, the only light coming from a small desk lamp and the blueish shine from the computer in the back office.

Visitors who were used to the occupant's ways, would be struck by the near absence of music. 'Near' because there was music playing in the background. Soft music, and not at all the lab rat's style.

Abby was so engrossed in whatever she was doing, that she didn't hear the ding of the elevator, nor the doors to her lab whoosh open, and, amazingly enough, not even the person entering her lab.

He wasn't exactly trying to be completely silent or sneaky. No. Just like her, he was subdued because there simply wasn't anything to be elated about.

The man sighed and sank down in the corner chair, facing her, patiently waiting for her to look up from her monitor. But she didn't. Or rather, she wouldn't. Afraid of the course this conversation would inevitably take. Of course it was utterly pointless to ignore what was going on.

The man leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, listening to Corelli's Adagio which was so in contrast with Abby's usual rather extreme taste of music.

"I gather you haven't heard anything, yet, Abigail?"

She took her time to answer, her eyes still glued on the screen, and when she did, it was barely audible.

"No..."

Silence.

Except for the soft music and the computer ventilator.

No words.

The door to the lab slid open and faltering footsteps were heard, falling silent as they approached Abby's small office. A young male voice made itself heard.

"Hi Abby. Dr. Mallard. I'm about to close down. Was there anything else that still needs to be done?"

Ducky rubbed his eyes wearily and opened them to look at his young assistant.

"No, Mr Palmer. We'll call it a day. But don't lock the door as you leave. I'll see to it myself as soon as I'll finish here."

"Uhm...okay then...uhm..."

"Yes, Mr Palmer?"

"Mmm...nothing..." With that he spun on his heels and headed out of the lab again. He'd learned not to press the good doctor when he was less his garrulous self.

The 'good' doctor, meanwhile, was wondering why Jimmy hadn't asked what was foremost on his mind...on any one's mind, in fact.

Finally Abby shut down her computer and rolled her chair back.

"It's not like Gibbs...or any of them...not to call."

"They are at sea, after all, Abigail dear. Maybe they have no coverage."

"Something's hinky, Ducky. I can feel this!"

"Abi..."

She wouldn't let him finish what he was about to say.

"Something's wrong with McGee. I'm sure of it! When it comes to Timmy, I have this...this...gut feeling. Just like Gibbs. A _Gibbs_ feeling. In here." She laid her palm on her belly.

"I have butterflies..." She got up and started pacing her small office. "No...nonono...not butterflies... Anyway: something really ticklish... And it gives me goosebumps. Not good at all, Ducky. Bad signs."

She stopped in front of him, one hand holding onto her pigtail and fumbling with it, which showed how agitated she was.

She pivoted and started biting her fingernails, still avoiding his eyes.

"Abigail, my dear. Why don't you see it this way: no news is good news?"

"Then, tell me, Ducky, why are you here in my office? You don't look too confident either."

"You've caught me out. I can't explain, but I can't shake this sensation of impending...trouble. I reminds me of when I was in Vietnam... I..."

"Ducky, I don't care where it was..Vietnam or Timbuktu..."

"I merely wanted to..."

"No. I don't want to hear it. We haven't heard of them and usually they make calls for something...anything... Trivial or important, no matter, but they call. And you know how Timmy is when he's seasick."

At first, Ducky was a little miffed to be cut off by Abby, but, to be fair, he was worried, too. He also knew his young friend wasn't exactly ship-shape. And, as soon as he heard they were to go on a boat trip, he couldn't help but have his misgivings about McGee being out at sea...in the weakened state he was currently in, he would certainly be in a disadvantage. The young man was still short of some good rest and being seasick wasn't going to help. Quite the reverse.

Moreover, Jimmy had checked for the weather forecast and what he found was not exactly weather for an enjoyable picnic in the park! Oh no. They all knew too well how the young agent would fare. They also knew for a certainty how Tony would never let Tim live it down if he fell prone to this malaise.

"What were you doing on the computer, anyway?"

"Reading a real interesting article on slugs and forensic indicators. Or at least trying to..." she answered morosely.

"Aha? Which one? Is it the one from..."

"Real slugs, Ducky. This is about the Ariolimax."

"Oh..."

Another period of utter silence reigned until the phone rang, nearly causing them both to jump from their skins.

Abby looked at Ducky, eyes wide and shaking her head vigorously. No way was she going to answer the phone. What if it were bad news? Didn't Ducky just say that no news was good news?

Ducky breathed out a sigh and using both hands, he levered himself out of his chair and stretched out a hand to pick up the phone.

"Dr. Mallard."

"_We have news..._"

Ducky mouthed "_Vance_" to Abby and she pushed the speaker button.

"_...it's not positive and, unless we get intel of the opposite, it's not entirely negative either._"

Abby threw her hands in the air, rolling her eyes with an air of "_Duh?_" Either it was positive or it was negative news...or no news at all. But this? When was Vance going to come to the crux instead of this uncharacteristically beating about the bush?

Vance, unaware of what was happening on the other end of the line, continued.

"_Coast Guard informed us that they received a distress call from...the vessel carrying on board NCIS agents._"

Abby's breath hitched and she clapped her hand to her mouth, knowing full well who those NCIS agents would be.

"Any news on their fate, Director?" The ME asked, locking his eyes with Abby's.

"_Coast Guard have been unable to establishment any further radio contact since the last Mayday emission. It is generally assumed the boat is lost. The skipper happens to be an old acquaintance and is known to be an old sea dog. Therefore they stand a very good chance to be rescued. It's now up to the SAR to pick them up. Let's keep some optimism. At least the USCG receive GMDSS alerts which helps them pin-point the exact position._"

"Any more information on their condition? With Timothy's health factor in play, I can't help but anticipate complications." A small sound coming from Abby made Ducky cringe. His own anxiety over Tim's condition had resulted in his overlooking Abby's fear for her friend. Oh dear.

"_Negative. That's the only intel we have thus far. Let's not prejudge the situation and think the worst._"

There was a moment of silence over the line, but then Vance resumed.

"_I'm aware of Agent McGee's medical status, but since he was cleared for work... What haven't I been told? I trust you are aware I don't take to kindly to being misinformed about my agents?_" There was a cold edge to the director's voice that even seeped through the phone.

Ducky rubbed the bridge of his nose as he considered how best to reply to this nettly question. However he was saved the answer.

"_Thought so. You'd better hope we have my MCRT back in one piece, doctor. When this is over, you and I will have a chat before the periodic health examinations planned for next month. As the MCRT's physician, I'd like to hear your assessment and have a preliminary run through the medical records you keep on them._"

"Of course, Director."

"_Meanwhile, I'll keep you two in the loop. I trust Miss Sciuto is still present?_"

"Yes, Director."

"_Thought so. While I applaud both your loyalty to this team, I still have to insist that fretting about them won't make them come back faster. I'd strongly suggest you both go home and grab some sleep." There was a sigh. "However, I'd sooner eat my hat than that you will act on my advice, I guess._"

"Thank you, Director."

"_It's alright. I'll call you as soon as I hear more, but, please, do take a rest._"

Ducky heard the telltale click when Vance hung up.

Abby grabbed Bert and gave the stuffed hippo a mighty squeeze so that it made a flatulent noise.

"I knew it! I KNEW it! Told you it was hinky!" She was furiously pacing in her lab with the sounds of Bert and the tippy-tapping of her platform boots as her constant companions.

"Abigail..."

She rounded on him and peered in his face.

"I feel it when Timmy is in danger! I really really feel it, Ducky! For all we know he may be dead! Drowned. His body sinking to the bottom of the ocean! Poor, sweet Timmy! The idea I'll never see him back!"

Ducky firmly grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a little shake.

"Abigail! Stop this. You can't know this. The others won't let it go this far. Surely, after all this time, you do know how they have each other's backs? Besides, you did hear the Director say that they have an experienced seaman with them?"

"But Ducky!"

"No! Enough is enough, Abigail. You should calm down."

"Bu..."

"Miss Sciuto! Really! For your sake and my sanity, I beg you to lock those doomsday scenarios away this instant!"

At her downcast countenance, he quickly relented.

"Now look here. Why don't we go upstairs to one of the conference rooms where it's a little cosier than here? Why don't you go there while I make us some calming tea and inform the Director of our whereabouts? Wouldn't that be good?"

She shrugged and, seeing the sense in Ducky's words, did as she was told deciding it was indeed a better place for, what they would expect to become, a long wait.

Then, little over an hour later – hardly a long wait - the Director walked into the meeting room to tell them in person that he'd been contacted by Coast Guard.

"The raft had been spotted and SAR is coordinating the rescue as we speak."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The skipper was the first one to peek out from under the canopy when the occupants of the life raft heard the radio voice of the SAR Hercules overhead.

He wearily looked up at the sky where the voice hailed from, shading his eyes with his hand.

Yep! It was there alright! That helicopter buzzing overhead was a sight for literally sore eyes.

He felt someone brush against him, trying to push his or her way to the opening to have a look, too. He turned to see who, and a smile slowly spread on his weather worn face as he pointed to the helicopter.

"We're saved, Agent David! We're saved!"

Ziva nodded, her face streaked with tears. She turned back and let her eyes go over the others who lay sprawled in various positions in the small raft, her gaze finally coming to rest on the two of her team laying side by side in the bottom of the raft.

Gibbs, having regained some level of consciousness, let his gaze dwell over his agent as the others were in rapt contemplation, pushing like children to obtain a better view from the opening.

The only other person who hadn't moved from his place was Cadet Hugh Pellowe. He just sat there, seemingly unperturbed by all the excitement.

Gibbs' eyes left McGee's prone and still body to settle on the quiet young officer, in time to catch the sudden flicker of the other's eyes indicating that his attention, previously directed inward, now had shifted to both the older agent regarding him with a calm, steady gaze, and the young unconscious agent.

No words were needed; Pellowe's look said it all. It was one that betrayed and transferred to the watching Gibbs a plethora of emotions. Every way his gaze moved, evoked a different sentiment. Looking at Tim, there was concern, regret, sorrow, fear, guilt, grief...and yet hope, too. Seeing his girlfriend, love and tenderness were predominant. As the young man locked his remorseful gray eyes with Gibbs again, he silently asked for forgiveness for his pathetic contribution in getting others in the current dire situation.

There wasn't much Gibbs could do to alleviate Pellowe's distress. He couldn't even bear thinking about it. Not while Tim's life was still at stake. He really couldn't predict his reactions if Tim succumbed, in spite of all the rescue attempts.

Gibbs closed his eyes, but now he kept seeing the cadet's face, as well as Tim's. It came as a shock...the realization that both young men were so much alike. It was uncanny and a little frightening. His heart sped up at this notion, and it must have shown, because, in less than no time, he felt a warm presence close by, a calming hand on his forehead and another holding his wrist.

His eyes popped open and they were met by concerned gray ones.

"Sir. Please remain calm. It's okay. You'll be fine." A soothing voice.

"Tim..." Spoken in just a sigh.

Pellowe glanced at the unconscious agent and decided not to say anything about his worrisome condition. It might upset the older man and that was something to be avoided at all cost.

Pellowe turned back to Gibbs thinking of something positive to say.

"The SAR helicopter has arrived. You both will soon get professional care. It's nearly over."

Deep down, however, he had a nagging idea for whom it might be over soon, and in what way. He cringed. It was all his fault. If only he'd had the guts, the eloquence to have a serious heart to heart with Lorraine's parents. If only he hadn't given in to her wild plans. It had looked such a good idea at the time, so simple, so exciting, so romantic even! Eloping. Oh how he loved her. To pieces! He'd do anything for Lorraine. And now, innocent people – people who had acted on good intentions, whose job it was to protect, who had been worried for her – well, those people had been put in danger because of him and Lorraine.

He quickly pulled himself together and his young face showed a new determination. He realized this adventure would mean the end of his chosen career. It hurt. A lot. But what was done, was done and there was nothing he could do to...undo it. He was so mad at himself. Boiling mad, in fact, and it was patent by the flush that now spread across his face and the scowl which had taken residence there as well...

...until he looked down into the older agent's questioning eyes.

The blush deepened, but his features softened.

"I...I'm truly sorry of all this." He muttered and waved his hand, encompassing the raft and it's occupants.

"I really don't know what came over me – why I did this. It was childish and stupid, inconsiderate." He took a deep breath and swallowed.  
"Unworthy for a naval officer. And I deeply regret it. Wished I could turn back time so that all of this had never happened."

Gibbs let his eyes close. "You love her...that much, don't you?"

As Pellowe opened his mouth to affirm it, there was a renewed scurrying – yet mindful of the injured men - in the raft. Looking up, he noted the others were moving to their former places again, leaving Tony and the skipper helping the SAR diver into the raft reducing disturbance to a strict minimum.

The newcomer scooted to the two victims. One glimpse at Gibbs – who regarded the man with as steady a gaze as he could muster – and he moved his medical attention to the unconscious McGee.

After a quick evaluation of Tim, which confirmed what the skipper had relayed to him, he contacted the helicopter.

"We have a case of drowning and immersion hypothermia. Core temperature around 30°C. Low heart rate and breathing rate. Unconscious and non responsive. Open airway. Head and leg injuries."

In response, the flight technician maneuvered the helicopter with painstaking precision and soon a Medevac litter was let down.

As the CG diver readied Tim for his hoist to the safety of the USCG helicopter, he explained the need for extreme caution.

"It's important he's not exposed more than necessary to the 'cold' air, wind or water. Even spray. Rough handling is to be avoided at all costs for risk of cardiopulmonary arrest. His heart rate is markedly reduced and his myocardial temperature way too low, so we don't want to risk ventricular fibrillation, right?"

The others nodded mutely.

He grabbed for the litter and pulled it closer to the raft. The skipper held it stable to allow the others to ever so gently shift Tim to the stretcher.

Just before he secured himself to the litter, the rescuer caught sight of Gibbs struggling to raise himself.

"Stay down, Sir!" He barked and soon he and Tim, wrapped in a protective emergency blanket, were airborne.

They all watched with bated breath how Tim was whisked away and winched up in the litter.

Ziva's gaze never left him as he was hoisted aboard the Coast Guard helicopter with the care as they would treat a baby. Her mouth moved as she silently said a prayer for her friend's safekeeping, his survival. There was so little faith left, having seen him deteriorate, but for his sake, she wouldn't give up hope. For all their sakes, in fact.

Ziva could no longer stop the tears from falling and she angrily brushed them away. Why was she acting so emotional all of a sudden? It wasn't like she was never going to see him again. Soon she would be hoisted up, too, to join him for the ride to Bethesda. And yet...it felt too much like a permanent farewell. No, she couldn't allow herself to think like this. Still, the sight of him, looking so...lifeless...in that cradle...now diminishing in the falling darkness. It weighed down on her and her mind was screaming.

With the passing of the time spent in the raft, she felt her hope dwindle and this rescue no longer felt like a rescue at all.

She was suddenly aware of a weight on her arm.

She looked down at the hand lying there.

She followed the arm up till she met the owner's face.

She found his eyes. Tony's eyes.

She saw her sorrow reflected in them.

Then, the moment was broken.

The rescue swimmer was back and already by Gibbs' side.

As the winch man swung Gibbs on board and carefully laid him next to Tim, he saw his youngest agent was being stabilized by the medical personnel. Tim's face, devoid of all color, was covered with a Res-Q-Air mask administering humidified air to his lungs and the medic was now attaching him to the vital-signs monitor.

Soon, all the occupants were sitting side by side. As the helicopter sped at approximately 250km/h towards land and Bethesda, the ambulant survivors were gloomily staring at the two forms strapped to their litters.

In this fast-paced situation, it took them 30 seconds to have Tim hooked up on a Thermal Angel from which an IV (the medical personnel experienced some problems in inserting the needle into the cold veins) ran a warm saline solution into his veins and on to his vital organs, thus slowly warming him up from the inside.

The medic had a look at Tim's other injuries, but since his heart was pumping at such a reduced speed – the fearfully low sinus rhythm displayed on the monitor was there for all to see – the bleeding was negligible and they found themselves grateful for small mercies.

Still, it was a gruesome sight, but if all the lines could help him pull through this critical period, they were more than grateful. Nevertheless, they couldn't reach the hospital soon enough.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Having received further treatment and evaluation, the slightly battered remnants of the team sat slumped in the waiting room, anxious for news on their team leader and their friend. They had been greeted by Ducky and a rather stressed Abby. The pair of them had arrived at the medical facility shortly before the SAR helicopter had touched down and the survivors had been rushed inside, straight to ER.

After the check-up and being found to have suffered little ill effects, Midshipman Hugh Pellowe and his girlfriend, Lorraine Daring, had been picked up and taken to NCIS, where, the girl's parents were awaiting her arrival with anticipation. The skipper's presence had also been requested at the agency to give his testimony of the facts.

Thus, Ziva, Tony, Abby and Ducky found themselves left alone.

It was a long wait before a man in scrubs walked up to the little group.

"You're all here for Timothy McGee, I take it? Yes of course. We've already met... The "family", eh?"

He grinned understandingly before resuming his professional stance.

"Now then... Agent McGee... He's severely hypothermic. We have him on the cardiac monitor... Suffered from a host of complications. His pre-existing physical state of health...let me see..." he checked his notes. "...stress, exhaustion... Migraine?"

He looked up and the others nodded glumly.

"Seasickness, dehydration, combined with the medication he took for relief...and his lack of body fat...inhalation and digestion of seawater... All these predisposing factors would certainly explain the severity of his condition. We've had to defibrillate him and start peritoneal dialysis. The administration of heated humidified oxygen will be maintained via endotracheal intubation for up to 24 hours. Of course the Thermal Angel with normal saline fluid treatment through chest tubes will be continued."

He paused as he looked around the circle of tired, but anxious faces. He could go into even more detail but this would have to do. What was the use of giving them more information? It sounded bad enough as it was already. It would still be touch and go, but he wasn't going to tell them that.

For a moment, they were numb with the gravity of what their friend was going through.

But then, the physician was assaulted by a multitude of questions, all at the same time.

"And?"

"Is he gonna make it?"

"He can't die!"

"Is he gonna be all right?"

"What are the complications?"

The doctor, took a deep breath and raised a hand before answering.

"The most immediate problems have been taken care off. He's now undergoing surgery for his other injuries. After that, we will keep him monitored for pneumonia, pulmonary edema, cardiac arrhythmia's, myoglobinuria, thrombosis, seizures... I doubt you will want me to continue? He will be watched closely. These are early days yet, but he should make a full recovery – no lasting damage, except perhaps, some more sensitivity to cold. There's no telling if this will be permanent."

He smiled. He was experienced enough to know a smile still held hope for a positive outcome for a patient, even if, in truth, the doctors and the rest of the medical personnel strongly doubted a full recovery, let alone survival! Or, as was in this case, the patient was in for more life threatening complications. The young agent would sorely need all their support.

"Of course, he's still listed as critical and will have to spend at least this night at ICU – probably 24 hours. So you know the drill."

They nodded. Oh yes; and if they knew!

"And Agent Gibbs? How is his condition?" This question came from Ducky.

"Agent Gibbs suffered a moderate form of hypothermia and his condition is stable. Thanks to the good initial management in the field and the Thermal Angel treatment he received during the transport, he arrived at the hospital normothermic. This patient will be kept overnight for observation, possibly to be discharged tomorrow. Like Agent McGee, he'll probably have more cold sensitivity to his extremities."

His beep went off, and after a quick look at it, he excused himself and hurried down the corridor. 

- -.-. -. . .

The team stood outside the glass separation wall at the ICU and looked at their comatose friend lying there, delicate, forlorn and virtually buried under a myriad of colorful tubes and lines protruding from various spots all over his pale, yet bruised, body. A ventilator supported his breathing, emitting the typical "click & whirr". They weren't sure if his stillness was due to the large bump on his forehead or the result of his near-drowning and hypothermia. Probably a combination of both.

They couldn't see the state of his leg, but they knew it hadn't looked too good.

He was naked but to offer some modicum of decency and respect, even if he was utterly unaware of his state because of his coma, his body was covered by a sheet from his hips downwards.

Once again, Ziva felt her heart constrict with deep emotion at seeing her friend like this. Feeling an arm snake around her shoulders, she leaned in the embrace. Tony. Who else? He had a knack of knowing exactly what to do in such situations. All bluster on the outside, but deep down, when it came to his Probie and Ziva, a great heart.

There were no words. What was there to be said, anyway?

Tony chanced a look sideways, trying to discern her face...gauge how deeply she was affected. He found her to be quiet. Way too quiet.

Giving her shoulder a little reassuring squeeze, he returned his gaze towards the still form.

That was his Probie, his friend, his bro, object of many jokes. He smiled wryly.

This was the man he deeply trusted and respected, even if he could never be too overt about it.

It hadn't always been like that and his thoughts went back to their first meeting. God, but did the then absurdly young rookie look such a nerdy baby! Just like a school kid trying to be on the good side of the teacher. Wide-eyed and so abjectly in awe of Gibbs that it was almost pathetic. McGee had been looking so hard for an approving eye from the Boss...and rarely getting it...no one really knew why. He'd been longing to be adopted by what he called the NCIS family, but all in vain... He would always be the odd man out and Tony had preferred it that way. In those early days, he'd even been jealous of the probationary agent. Nobody could ever replace Tony, remove him from his pedestal, and he would ensure that it stayed this way. Tony was like a son to Gibbs,ow as much as Abby was a daughter, and one would have to hold a candle to the sun to change that. This trio had never let anyone else in. Okay, there was Ducky, but that was different. Yet, it had changed. It took a while, but it did. Others had been there before Tim...and gone just as fast. Gibbs could be so intimidating. McGee was...more tenacious than you'd have given him at first glance. Nobody would ever admit he was a quitter. No. He stayed and endured all the hazing. He even remained unflappable as Gibbs kept up ignoring him. Tony was sure some of his own remarks must've hurt the younger man and Gibbs often unfair treatment, like finding in Tim the perfect scapegoat if anything happened to his precious Abby, would undoubtedly have affected him, too. His taking all this was a testimony of a much stronger character, hidden behind the timid puppy face, than anyone would have given him credit for. To most he was no more than the computer geek, the dork, the loyal dog...

Tony closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Damn... In hindsight, how could he have been so cruel to Tim? Why was he still behaving like a frat boy towards a young agent who'd more than proved his worth? Granted, McGee had paid him back in his own coin on occasion, but that had been a relatively recent thing, hadn't it? No, it hadn't always been like that.

A continuous beeping brought him out of his reverie and he felt Ziva stiffen beside him.

He flattened both hands on the glass and stared in horror as medical personnel, armed with more medical equipment, rushed into the room to surround a convulsing Tim, obliterating him from his friends.

Ziva brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream which had been building up.

Abby turned around and ran away. Ducky, due to his medical training, was not the least bit surprised by the turn of events; yet he was greatly affected by watching it happen to a friend and he stood transfixed on the spot.

"No," he thought, "they really shouldn't be seeing this."

His professional self took over and he gently took Ziva by the arm to turn her away from the scene, pushing her towards the door of the ward, before turning back to Tony.

"Anthony, please let's go. There's nothing we can do here."

"But..."

"Anthony? No 'but'. Come with me. Now." He was suddenly at his most commanding, brooking no objection.

"Ducky! Just look! Look at him! After all we...we...," Tony finally turned to him, anger and fear waring on his face and in his voice, "we did...and they did...he may still be dying! What if he dies?"

"We're not supposed to see this, Anthony." Ducky's voice had softened considerably.

"I can't leave him."

"While I admire your stubbornness and your friendship, I have to insist you come with me, my lad."

"Tony..."

Ziva...

"Please, listen to Ducky. Come with us. They will let us know as soon as they...they're..."

Very reluctantly, he turned his back to the scene and, with a final glare towards Ducky, he stomped out of the ward, back to the waiting area where a sobbing Abby raised from her seat and stepped up to meet him for a hug.

He rudely declined and continued his way down the corridor, through the double doors and out of sight.

Ziva slowly walked over to the goth, opening her arms to a now also baffled Abby who tearfully accepted.

Ducky sank down in the nearest chair, feeling more than just his age.

So here they were back again. Waiting...and waiting...and some more waiting...

He sighed and dug out his phone to give the Director a call. After all, the man had been held up at NCIS and deserved some news. Whatever or what little news there was.


	13. Chapter 13

_Not so much Tim, here. We still have our team leader who didn't really come off completely unscathed. ;) _

_Tony's hasty run from the ICU begged for some explanation and who better than Gibbs to lend him an understanding ear? _

_I'd also wish to thank my most loyal reviewers _starjem88_, _VFSNAKE_, and in particular _Gunner'sDream _who's been here since the start of my first ever multi-chaptered fanfic._

_However, I'm not done yet. More chapters to come. :D_

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Gibbs being Gibbs, was never one to obey doctors' orders if he was capable of movement. So, as soon as he felt he was up to it, he swung his legs out of his hospital bed, waited till the dizziness had passed before disconnecting the IV.

He held his breath as he tested his legs; yup, they would hold. Then he shuffled to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, towelled himself dry and went looking for his clothes.

As he got dressed – a slow process – he felt still a bit shaky and occasionally shivers ran down his spine.

Gibbs checked the corridor and, finding it empty, he sneaked out of the ward unobserved.

Before stepping inside the elevator, he quickly surveyed the plan of the building on the wall next to it.

During the ride, he leaned against the wall to recover from the exertion. Man, but he was tired!

When the doors slid open, he got out and started down the corridor. Rounding the corner, DiNozzo fairly brushed past him and boarded the elevator he'd just vacated. He turned about and stalked after Tony, not at his usual speed, and missed his agent by a whisker as the doors closed behind Tony, but Gibbs had an idea where he'd find him. He waited for the elevator and followed his man at a more leisurely pace than his usual. Then again, he wasn't exactly feeling his usual, was he?

Yes. He spotted Tony sitting on a bench outside. He stopped in his tracks, for once unsure what to do or say, but then he let his feet carry him to the lonely figure.

He would just wait and see where the conversation would lead.

Tony was a picture of deep dejection. Leaning forward, elbows planted on his knees and his hanging head supported upon his hands.

He didn't even react when he felt a presence plop heavily down beside him on the bench, although he had a pretty good idea who it was.

"Talk to me, Tony."

Tony chuckled bitterly and sat up to stare ahead. "Got a quote for you – a very accurate description of what I feel right now, boss: "I feel like I've been sucking on a lot of raw eggs".Seeing him like that...it...it just makes me sick."

Gibbs opened his mouth to say something but was stalled by Tony turning at a slight angle to face the team leader. He held up his hand as he continued. "I know I should've gotten used to this. The risks we run. We all know that. We are required to remain professional, calm, controlled when one of our team...one as close as Tim, or Ziva, or you...get hurt that bad. We're supposed to keep our emotions in check."

"I didn't..."

Tony sprang to his feet.

"You don't understand! We're like family. Probie is...Tim...is... is... Arrgghhh!" He turned around, angrily running a hand through his hair.

"He's like my brother. Okay, I never had a brother. But Probie is the closest I can have for a brother. How can one cope with...physical harm inflicted to...a brother?"

"Tony..."

"No, hear me out. We've been in enforcement and surveillance activities before. It's our job. We've run numerous unpredictable risks of getting shot at, clubbed, whacked...whatever...bitten by vicious, doped dogs... But this case? We weren't even dealing with 'criminals' here! No. We were in pursuit of some eloping kids! How could this whole situation take such a wrong turn?"

"No use beating yourself up over this, Tony. McGee knew the risks just like the rest of us. And... since when d'you think of him as your...brother?"

"Does it matter? Okay, okay! I tease him, rag him. I play out my favorite pranks on him. But he takes it all in good stride, well, most of the time. He knows I don't really want to hurt him...or his feelings. And when I do, he in return gives me as good as he got."

"Oh..." Gibbs raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Really, boss! Okay, it was different in the beginning. But now... No, we're good."

He sat down again.

"I care for him."

"Like a brother?"

"Yeah! But how would _you _understand?" His voice held an accusatory note that didn't go completely unnoticed to Gibbs.

"Tony..."

"No. You would even cook up another of your famous rules. 'Never get too chummy with a teammate'."

"I know how much it hurts to lose a partner."

"We have each other's sixes, boss. We have to trust one another...with our lives. We're more than just co-workers."

Gibbs nodded.

"_We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;_  
_For he today that sheds his blood with me_  
_Shall be my brother_"

Tony stared at Gibbs in surprise.

"You quoted a movie, boss?

"Nope. Shakespeare."

Tony shook his head.

"Shoulda known. Didn't recognize that line."

"Got this one from Ducky, Tony." Gibbs explained.

"Yeah. Who else."

Tony resumed his blank stare.

"He wasn't at his fittest before we went on that boat, Gibbs. The long hours and overload, the migraine attack, the heat...his seasickness..."

"I know."

"And yet we allowed him to come with us."

"We did."

"He shouldn't have come with us."

"No."

"It's our fault, you know?"

"No."

"What?"

"It wasn't our fault, Tony. It wasn't anybody's fault. There was no way we could predict the outcome."

"Still. He shoulda stayed at NCIS or home. I bet he never even wanted to come with us, knowing we'd be out on a boat."

There was little Gibbs could say to that. McGee had appeared recovered when he came back into work. And, well, it was never left open for debate whether his agent would join them out for field work; boat or no boat. As a team member he just did as he was told. Seasick or not.

"He's in a bad way." Tony sighed.

"He'll pull through."

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's McGee. He's stronger than you give him credit for, DiNozzo."

"Wished I could be so sure he can beat this."

"Have a some faith." Gibbs gave Tony's shoulder a little pat.

"Yeah, right..."

"Besides." Gibbs shrugged as he pushed himself up with some difficulty. "I didn't give him permission to go."

"Do you really think it's within his power to act upon it? C'mon!"

"No need to be pessimistic, Tony. This won't help Tim."

"It's called 'realistic', Gibbs. I'm realistic."

Tony heaved a big sigh and got up, too.

"C'mon, boss. You shouldn't have left your room. What were you thinking?"

"Yeah, what _was _I thinking." Gibbs gave a weary chuckle.

"Let's get you back settled in your bed. Maybe the nurses haven't noticed yet."

Gibbs coughed. "I doubt it. They'll sure strap cuff me to my bed."

"Probably. And I'll give them a hand." Tony said with a thin smile.

They both walked back in, Tony lending a supportive arm to Gibbs who leaned more on him with every step.


	14. Chapter 14

_A short chapter, this time. :)_

* * *

**Chapter 14**

After what seemed like ages, they anxious party saw the medical staff filter out of the ICU room their friend was being treated in. For now, the crisis had passed.

Ducky accosted one doctor and after a brief conversation, the physician followed the ME back to the waiting group of people.

"This is Dr. Cochrane, the respiratory therapist, Timothy's treating physician."

After introducing the doctor to the team, Ducky gave the man the floor.

"As we feared, pulmonary edema has set in. Not exactly an unexpected setback. The risk that this complication might arise, has been very real from the start. This episode was primarily caused by the hypoxia from the drowning and hypothermia. We'll treat him for immersion induced edema by continuing the oxygen supplementation: the measured oxygen level in the blood was too low."

He looked around the circle of people, but since nobody spoke, he continued.

"He's stable now. He's sedated and won't awake soon. We can't let anyone in yet. But you can have a look from the nurses station. Later, you'll be allowed to go in in two's but, please, when you do, restrict your visits to 15 minutes."

He bid them a good day and walked out of the ward.

So they went to see for themselves how their friend was doing before going back to NCIS and the wayward lovebirds, reports and then...home for some well deserved rest.

- -.-. -. . .

_NCIS: one of the conference rooms._

There was a much subdued atmosphere with Pellowe and Lorraine sitting at one end of the table and the girl's parents at the other end. There was no animosity, which came a bit as a surprise to the young naval officer and his girlfriend.

However, Lt and Mrs Daring weren't thinking, yet, of easing up on the midshipman who'd stolen their baby's heart.

They had already been informed that there was no criminal intent involved in the 'abduction'. Their daughter had merely ran off with her beau. This was behavior that simply couldn't be tolerated, though. But this was their Lorraine they were talking about!

Right now, they didn't quite know what to do about this whole sorry situation.

Lorraine, they found, seeing love through those wonderful rose-colored glasses, had been the one who'd instigated the elopement. And Hugh Pellowe, ever the romantic and by then so wound up, had complied with his sweetheart's ideas without giving them a second thought.

Not the cleverest thing to do, the young man had soon discovered to his utter shame.

Lorraine's idea had seemed so good. The end of his four week Training Cruise on board the _Centennial_, had provided the perfect time to carry out the plan. He wouldn't be missed. Not until he went back to the academy. "_What a lousy way to start for the new academy year,_" he thought wrily. He was surely going to be expelled.

Lt Daring covertly watched both young people. Seeing the two sitting there, fingers intertwined, silent, so dejected by the course their actions had taken...but..._together _like nothing or nobody could ever separate them, how could they let this pass unnoticed?

In the deafening silence, the door opened to let in Director Vance and a man in Service Dress Blue, causing all heads to snap up in unison.

Hugh Pellowe got up and stood to attention. Lorraine also raised from her chair and stood next to him, casting a pointed look at her parents.

"Midshipman Pellowe, you'll be escorted back to Annapolis. Lt Daring, Mrs Daring, Lorraine...you may go. We thank you for your visit and we are pleased to have been of service to you."

The uniformed man now regarded the young man, his face stern.

Pellowe bowed his head.

"Midshipman Hugh Pellowe: consistent with Navy-wide policies and procedures, you will face disciplinary action. Now, if you'll follow me..."

He spun on his heels and turned for the door but was halted by Vance.

"What will happen to Midshipman Pellowe?"

"The Board will determine what punishment shall be meted out. It can be anything between No Action at all to Disenrollment."

It didn't go unobserved how Pellowe flinched at the last words.

Lt Daring slowly pushed his chair back and moved closer, taking in the young man and then his daughter.

He heaved a sigh.

"This...was an act of...love. Not a recommendable one, I agree. As well as these kids know now. They never intended harming anyone and I'm sure they are genuinely sorry for their deeds. I'm equally sure they'll have learned a very important lesson. They are still so young."

This brought Pelllowe's head up, his face a picture of incredulity and hope.

"This may well be, Sir, but people _have _been harmed." Here, he looked at Director Vance for confirmation. "I can say no more on the outcome of the Staff's decisions. This offence – because, that's what it is - shall be investigated and evaluated."

The officer continued. "Our purpose it not to punish. No. Whatever action is taken, serves to correct a student's conduct. Action _will _be taken. That much is certain."

Now he addressed Vance.

"At best an Academic Probation. Most probably just Leave of Absence. At worst Disenrollment from the Program, but, if may opine, I doubt it'll go this far."

He chuckled.

"After all, our Midshipman Pellowe was our Student of the Semester in his 2nd year."

This mention was reason enough for the young man to blush furiously and he just wished he could crawl away into some remote corner to escape the extra attention he was now getting.

"Well then? Shall we?"

Lorraine had sneaked her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly, making him look at her. He cast a last apologetic glance at her parents, offered a polite nod at Director Vance and, taking a deep breath, followed his escort out of the room.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

When Ziva walked into McGee's section of the ward, she felt a little apprehensive. In what condition would she find him? After that last setback, nobody was too certain of which way it would turn out for him. Would he fully recover without any more complications? Would it be a long and hard recovery? He could still die.

She walked up to his bed and took a good look at him. She didn't know what to make of what she saw: Tim still looked awful, and if it weren't for the contracting and relaxing diaphragm and the noisy machines, he'd look more like one of Ducky's very inactive and silent 'patients'.

The head of his bed was elevated to an angle of about 30° so she could just sit back and keep a weather-eye for any little change his face might give away: be it pain, confusion, slowly coming to awareness,...anything that indicated his return to the living world and out of limbo in which he currently found himself.

Her gaze shifted from the still form in the bed to the beeping monitors and she couldn't help thinking of that Chris Rea song...

"I can hear your heartbeat..." she whispered, not daring to voice her feelings for her friend and co-worker too loudly...too obviously...

With a quick glance at the large window behind her to make sure nobody witnessed her show of affection, she stooped over him and planted a soft kiss on his fevered brow before seating herself at the head of his bed.

Not knowing what else to say, she listened to the sounds coming from the equipment, both monitoring and life supporting systems – mechanical voices giving some sign of how he was doing when his own remained silent...hopefully not for too long...hopefully not for...

She gulped at this sudden thought which held such a terminal quality. She shook her head. No, this couldn't happen. Not to McGee. How would she cope without him? How long before the others noticed how both had grown that close, been seeing each other, sleeping together, just one step short of moving in with the other.

They'd both been a little apprehensive of Gibbs' reaction once he'd find out, and they also knew it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together.

And even if he did? So what? It wasn't like he could do anything to stop them if they pursued their affair. In any case, they wouldn't be the first nor the last agents that got hitched with one another.

Ziva sighed and leaned over to brush at a stray lock of hair which lay over his closed eyes, and settled back in her chair, resuming listening to the sounds in the room.

There was the annoyingly rhythmic "click and whirrrrrr" and the up and down motion of the bellows which served as a mechanical substitute for his lungs, assisting them in their task of transporting the oxygen to keep his vital organs functioning.

Like the tides, his chest was rising and falling in synchronicity with the ventilator pressing and sucking air through that tube taped to his mouth.

Seeing this piece of equipment had her heart race within her chest and she looked forward to this moment when the mechanical ventilation would be discontinued and his lungs had fully taken over the automatic task they had been assigned to do since his birth; since his first cry and when he sucked in his first breath of air.

Then there were the beeps coming from the heart monitor, poor substitutes for the beats of his heart, mere echoes of the living organ in his chest and she'd rather feel that big heart of his beneath her hand...no...better yet...her ear as she'd rest her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beats. Those beeps that kept an incessant tattoo were cold and devoid of real, vibrant life.

She saw, rather than heard, the drips from the IV line inserted in the back of his hand. She tentatively reached out and ever so carefully touched the line where it penetrated the skin.

There had been a coming and going of nurses; sticking and poking him. It felt so unreal. Like the two of them had been caught in the middle of a time-lapse movie. Two unmoving people amidst bustling activity - as if the 'outside world' was going at double speed.

Ziva sighed and settled back in the chair and let her hand rest on his.

A little nap wouldn't harm, would it?

It felt like she'd barely let her eyes fall shut when she was jolted back to wakefulness as Dr. Cochrane and a nurse stepped closer. Ziva jerked her hand back. The movement brought a knowing smile on the doctor's face. Ah love...

She made to stand up, but Dr. Cochrane motioned she was not in the way and could just stay as she was. At least for the moment.

He took a quick reading of the graphics providing visual feedback of Tim's vital signs, particularly his breathing, and then turned his attention to his patient.

"He's as ready as he can get for spontaneous ventilation," he explained over his shoulder to Ziva what they were at. "We'll soon be able to take him off the mechanical ventilation."

Ziva looked on in fascination.

"Will you be doing this when he's...he is...still unconscious?"

"No. When a ventilator provides mechanical breaths, the patient would experience this as rather uncomfortable and distressing...well, a conscious patient, that is. That's why we have kept him under sedation, but he should be waking up soon."

He nodded towards the diagram from which he'd assessed the weaning parameters. "Despite the weakened alveoli, the sensors have shown Timothy has been able to initiate breaths during the cycle time the ventilator waits for a spontaneous respiration."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Ziva asked tentatively.

He turned to her, arms crossed as he patiently explained.

"It is. Whenever Timothy would fail to initiate a breath during a preset time, the machine would deliver a mechanical one at the end of each breath cycle. Now, this mode also enables the weaning off the mechanical support and as Timothy takes more successive spontaneous breaths, the rate, which requires him to take additional breaths beyond the triggered breaths, will automatically be turned down."

Well, Ziva got the gist of what Dr. Cochrane said this machine could do and she trusted his expertise. Right now, this was the most positive development she could've hoped for and she looked forward to see her...friend...no longer dependent on that machine.

"Right. I'll get what we need. You can stay until we're be back to start the extubation. Then, you'll be asked to please leave. We'll be needing some room to work when we start the procedure."

Dr. Cochrane nodded and left.

Ziva relaxed back in her seat and closed her eyes but not for long as she heard soft footsteps nearing the bed, and the scraping of another chair.

"Hi, Ziva." Tony whispered and nodded towards Tim. "How's he doing? Any change?"

"He should be waking up soon, I hope. Then, they'll get him off the ventilator."

"Wow, that's good news!" Tony bent over Tim and softly spoke, adding some levity to his words hiding his anxiety. "You hear that, Probie? Time for wakey-wakey, McSleeping Beauty! Don't expect me to kiss you, though."

There was no reaction. Not that Tony had expected any.

He sighed, and sat down.

"They let you in?"

"Yep! No problemo. Didn't you just say he's going to wake up? Must be that."

"Could be."

Silence.

Then.

"We could sing him a song. Or prod him a bit. He's a bit slow, isn't he?"

Tony was fidgeting at the prolonged lack of reaction. Ziva rolled her eyes and chose to not reply. Tony could be such a child sometimes.

"C'mon, Probie. Don't keep us waiting or I'll slap you."

Suddenly, Ziva sat up in her chair, intently looking at Tim.

Yes, there. She saw it again. His eyes had been moving for some time under the lids, she'd seen, but now, there was the slightest shifting under the blanket and his fingers twitched.

Tony had noticed the subtle changes, too.

Ziva took a hold of Tim's hand and leaned in towards him.

His eyes fluttered open. They could see his effort at focusing by all his blinking. A small groan escaped him as he tried to turn his head towards their voices.

Ziva could feel his fingers tighten in hers. His other hand clutched at the sheets.

As consciousness took a firmer grip on him, they noticed the confusion setting in and he started to whimper.

Where was he? Why was everything so fuzzy? Why were their voices muffled? What were those other noises? Faces. Whose? Oh yes. Of course. He wanted to laugh but felt more like crying as awareness began to gain more ground. He felt awful. A tube was coming out of his mouth. Now that explained why he was encountering some resistance in breathing. He wanted to get rid of that thing, but how could he do that? Tim began to roll his head from side to side and when his eyes met Ziva's, she could see the mounting panic in them.

Squeezing the call button with one hand, her other took a firmer hold of his hand and squeezed it in support.

"It is okay, McGee. The doctor will be here soon. Just try to relax. You will be okay, Tim. Shhhh..."

She stroked his hair.

He tried to say something. However, talking through a tube proved to be quite the impossible thing to do and the whimpering sounds leaving his lips made no sense at all.

"Sshhh... Stop trying, Tim. Just relax. Shhh..."

She would've loved to wrap him in her arms to soothe him. He looked so young. Vulnerable.

Tim was now becoming increasingly restless. Both Tony and Ziva observed how his BP kept rising and the beeping of the heart monitor told its own story.

Shortly, Dr. Cochrane with a therapist and a nurse in his wake strode into the room.

Ziva and Tony discreetly left to stand outside the room, staring through the window at the extubation procedure.

Ziva involuntarily held her breath as Tim was being prepared, the doctor speaking to him, no doubt explaining what they were about to do, thus succeeding in calming Tim who had started to fight the ventilator.

The head of his bed was raised a little higher so that the upper half of his body was about 70-80 degrees in relation to being horizontal.

The nurse removed the tube fixation and suctioned her patient. In the meantime, he was being hyperventilated with 100% O2.

A catheter was then inserted into the endotracheal tube.

Dr. Cochrane instructed Tim to breathe slowly and deeply before the cuff was deflated. Another deep breath, a cough, and the tube was efficiently removed, after which they rapidly placed an oxygen mask over his face through which he spontaneously took quick breaths.

Timothy McGee, now exhausted beyond measure from the stress after this latest treatment, felt himself drift off into blissful oblivion again.

- -.-. -. . .

The next day, Ziva didn't stay a second longer at NCIS than needed and, as soon as the clock on the wall displayed 6pm and the end of a workday, she packed her things and made her way to Bethesda and McGee.

At the nurses' station, she was informed she'd just missed Agent McGee being shifted to a regular room.

As she entered his room, she automatically gave a little smile at seeing him lying there, his face finally relaxed in normal sleep, instead of the medicinal induced unconsciousness he'd been in the prior to the weaning off the ventilation. She took in his pink cheeks and the sunken eyes, a sheen of perspiration covering his brow. Better, but not yet there.

She watched him as he slowly woke up from his nap and she was pleased to note his green eyes were clear...and smiling.

There was a tentative knock on the door which opened to reveal Tony.

"I'm just in time, I see." Tony offered his best McLean's grin.

"Hey Zee...Tony..." Tim's voice, though, was croaky, and he cleared his throat, wincing.

Ziva placed a chip of ice on his tongue which he gratefully let melt to soothe his still hurting throat.

"Thanks."

"How you doin' McIcelolly? Done shiverin' yer timbers?"

"I...It's not...that cool, Tony."

Tony nodded. Okay. Time to sober up. He'd have to give Probie a break. He, Anthony Big Dee Big En Little ozzo, had nearly lost his bro.

"Gee, Tim! You were blood-freezing cold out there!" Tony said sotto voce and just a little trembly.

"We nearly lost you." Ziva added in a tiny voice.

McGee didn't quite know what to reply to that.

After a while. "Ho...how...is Gggibbs?" Aw man. Now the stutter was back, too.

"He's doing okay, Tim. He's doing okay. I just don't think he'll join us in a snow ball fight. Not this year, anyways."

The three just decided to sit in companionable silence until Tim, relishing the comfort of friends, had become drowsy and felt himself pulled under again.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16**_

He struggled. He struggled really hard to keep from drowning.

The downward suction of this whirlpool was simply too strong for him and his strength was waning fast. Swirling around and around. The speed of the vortex was making his head spin, his stomach churn, stretch his flailing limbs to their most painful limits, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do about it.

His brain yelled for this torture to stop!

His ears were ringing. A high-pitched buzzing was needling its way into the deepest recesses of his brain.

No more. Please God, no more!

He felt like his lungs were about to burst. Then, no longer able to hold it, all air was squeezed out from of his lungs by the weight of the all enveloping pressure. He couldn't breathe. Still, he had to inhale. He was no fish. He was no selkie. He wasn't made to live under the sea. Oh, he could be green around the gills or so his friends made him believe, but he was most definitely not an aquatic creature.

He was losing the fight and his pumping, frantically beating heart was at its limits as his life was literally sucked out of him.

A scream forced its way out from his gulping mouth and in horrific fascination he watched the air bubbles – his bubbles...his very life… float upwards toward the rays of light breaking the surface as he sank deeper in the great blue. A strange phenomenon, given he was in a centrifugal funnel on his one way trip to the bottom of the ocean and eternal darkness.

It was the most amazing thing, this ability to scream under water when his life force was draining...quite literally...down the drain.

This surrounding darkness was scaring him witless and he screamed in time with his wildly beating heart.

Not yet giving up fighting for his life, he thrashed about him and kicked and screamed as he now felt an ever increasing number of tentacles pulling at him, his legs, his arms... There was no escape and yet he couldn't resign himself to his fate.

"Tim!"

What was that? Through the roaring and buzzing, somebody seemed to be calling his name.

"Tim!" The calling became more urgent and was accompanied by a loud chorus of accelerating beeps.

And then, suddenly, he was pulled from the tunnel and out into the open...air!

He blinked furiously at the anxious faces looming over him and he was still struggling to get his breathing under control. He was sure the wild thudding of his heart could be heard above his labored panting.

A mask was placed on his face and he tried to move his hand to swat it away. His movements were sluggish and as awareness slowly returned, he tried to take stock of his surroundings.

The beeping he'd heard had slowed down and he vaguely realized it was his own heart monitor that had been responsible for this disturbance.

Somebody held onto his wrists and somehow, he couldn't move his legs, either. This brought along another panic attack and again he made a desperate attempt to wriggle from this hold, arching his back off the bed, his muscles taut and straining.

"Watch his leg!"

Too late for that: he'd been tensing up so badly as he fought to get free. Acute pain flared through his injured leg which brought tears to his eyes and had him suck in deep breaths and release them again in a hiss through his dilated nostrils and clenched mouth. He scrunched his eyes shut as if by doing this, he'd be able to shut out the pain. Make it go away.

"Shh...Tim. It's alright. Shh...It's okay. You're safe." A female voice, with a faint trace of fear, tried to soothe him. He recognized this voice, as he also knew he could trust the owner of this voice. He stopped resisting the hands holding him down.

"Everything is under control again. You can slowly, slooowly...release him. He's calmed down sufficiently.." Another voice, this one. A matter-of-fact type of ring to it. A medical person, his otherwise confused brain was still able to register.

As the pain slowly ebbed to a dull throbbing, he tentatively opened his eyes.

The ringing was as good as non-existent, now, and he slowly relaxed his rigid muscles, his breathing still coming out in pants.

He felt the vice-hold on his ankles drop away, as were the hands holding onto his wrists, one of which was gingerly placed on his brow, then stroking his feverishly hot cheek. And again. As if hushing a frightened child.

Tim's eyes, which had been large as saucers with abject fear during this episode, flicked from face to face, before fluttering closed again. Feeling drained, his head still spinning and throbbing, it came as a relief to feel himself drift away. No more struggling. Just peaceful abandonment.

- -.-. -. . .

A small sigh had Ziva instantly alert and leaning over her friend, her eyes peering worriedly into his face trying to gauge how he was doing.

"McGee? Tim?"

She bent closer and rested her hand on his face, feathery stroking his brow with her thumb, encouraging him to wake up in his own time.

"Mmmm..." He moaned softly. It was more a sound of repose.

He knew he was still stuck in a hospital bed, but he sure felt better. Whether it was because of the drugs that were still dripping into his bloodstream or simply because his body had reached that point where it had finally relaxed enough to allow the healing, he had no idea.

"Zeeeee..." He exhaled... A zephyr.

"Hey, Tim." Ziva smiled and she pulled the chair closer to the bed. Closer to him. Close enough she could still feel the heat radiating from him. Still running a fever, then.

She kept stroking him. The delicacy of the movement told more than words could ever tell and he basked in her loving touch. The sweet scent of her perfume wafted towards him and he thought it a thankful replacement for the antiseptic hospital smell.

He cracked his eyes open and looked up at her face in wonderment, the green irises luminescent with a different kind of fever. But then, the gleam dulled as he took in her gaunt appearance.

"You look done, Zee." He chided her in a whisper.

"I'm fine, Tim. And you will be fine as well." A single tear appeared in the corner of her eye and Tim lifted his hand to wipe it away.

"Why are you crying?"

His voice was still hoarse, only this time, not only from the abuse his body had suffered.

She didn't answer. How could she? After they'd come so close to losing him?

Ziva let his hand touch her face with the slightest of tremors. Then, it limply slid down as if he lacked the strength to hold it up any longer. His fingers brushed her neck and continued their trail down...until they reached her breast, sending an electric current coursing through her body. She involuntarily sucked in a breath and her hand intercepted his, holding it flat across her heart. It fluttered like the hundreds of butterflies trapped in her belly.

Green eyes met brown eyes and they locked. No words were uttered. None were needed. The beating of their hearts was testimony enough of the true feelings they shared.

Ziva brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his slender fingers. Again, she reflected how she'd come that close to losing him. Again, that scene in the raft took full possession of her mind and the image of him lying lifeless in the life raft, pressed itself to her notice - soaked through and deathly pale, his wet hair plastered on his forehead...

And Tim was lost in his own memories as his eyes vacantly stared in hers. Drowning in them. Drowning... He mentally kicked himself. Don't go there, Tim. Her eyes. First time he'd caught her undressing him with those burnt umber eyes. He smiled inwardly. Not that he hadn't done the same. And it hadn't stopped there. Oh no. Right before he had that whopping migraine attack, they'd made out in her apartment. It wasn't the first time, nor was it going to be the last time. It nearly was, though. Again he shook these disturbing thoughts off and deliberately pulled his mind back to that night. Sweltering hot and not only weather wise.

They were so mesmerized they didn't notice Gibbs as he stood in the entrance, not daring to intrude. He silently retreated. He would come back later. He'd seen his agent and he was pleased to see the younger man was doing better – a lot better, considering – and that was all he needed to know for the time being.

Inside the hospital room, the spell was broken as the monitor beside Tim's bed emitted a heart rate picking up an alarming speed and, brutally jolted back to the presence; he glared at it in irritation.

"Can't they just switch the damn thing off?"

She smoothed the frown which had appeared on his forehead and laughed, letting his hand carefully down on the covers.

He let out a shaky laugh himself. If he were to be honest with himself, he'd have to admit his heart wasn't yet ready for too much excitement.

Tim swallowed and his hand reached out for Ziva. She snuggled close, letting him draw her face to his, their lips touching.

She held his hand and slipped the other under the sheets, laying it across his chest, drawing another accented beep from the monitor.

Tim's eyes sought hers and vice versa, as Ziva found herself drowning in his green pools. Her hand lovingly rubbed his chest and abdomen, taking care not to disturb the electrodes adhered to his skin. She then let her hand rest on his chest where she registered his, now, regular heartbeat. She moved still closer, letting go of his hand to curve her arm on the bed near his pillow, and resting her head in the crook of her arm. He slowly turned his head to look at her, his eyes holding an intent she had rarely seen before. Soon, though, his eyes drooped and eventually closed altogether. Her eyes fell shut, too, only to concentrate on the beating of his heart she felt under her right hand and the warm whiffs of his breath caressing her face.

The two of them seemed locked into a time slot. To them, time had come to a complete stand-still.

That's how the nurse on duty found them as she stepped into the room to check on her patient. The beeping had returned to its more sedate rhythm. She smiled and switched it off.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Gibbs knocked and went in quietly lest his man was still asleep.

He wasn't.

Tim was sitting up in bed, bored out of his mind and zapping through the TV channels.

He'd barely had time to wipe the look of utter boredom off his face at the soft knock and identifying his visitor as his superior.

His face lit up, but only briefly, before adopting a more guarded countenance. He wasn't sure what mood Gibbs was in right now. After all, it was the first time he'd seen the team leader since waking up in a hospital bed. He knew he'd got into big trouble and that it was all his own fault - his own incompetence.

Tim quickly powered off the TV and carefully avoided Gibbs' face.

If he'd expected his boss wouldn't notice, he was wrong.

In fact, Gibbs did notice and he wasn't happy with his agent's reaction to his presence. It was back to the rookie days again.

He stood there eyeing Tim. Giving an exasperated sigh, he walked further into the room and gingerly sat down in the chair nearest to the bed.

Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, Gibbs subjected the younger man to a close scrutiny.

He'd heard McGee was doing better. Quite well, considering. Of course he was still far from well, but he was getting there. His lungs had mostly cleared, his head wasn't hurting, and he only felt the occasional shiver. They all knew he still felt a painful pulling whenever he moved his left leg, and this wasn't only due to the stitches. It had been an ugly gash, after all.

A quarter of an hour later, and Tim still hadn't looked up which had Gibbs wondering if this was going to be a battle of wills more than a cowering game.

Tim, now, could feel Gibbs' steely, blue eyes positively bore into his skull and found it very unnerving.

Finally, Gibbs came to the decision it was time to break the awkward silence.

Apparently, Tim had been of the same idea and so both started talking at the same time.

"Boss..." Tim tentatively began. He had raised his head and was now looking directly at Gibbs.

"Listen up..."

Gibbs knew the younger man would wait for him to continue. It's how one Timothy McGee's mind worked.

"McGee...Tim... You're not to blame yourself over this."

"How can it not be my fault?" Tim blurted out. "Me and my stupid seasickness..."

"_Here we go._" Gibbs thought.

"Okay. You were seasick. So now you tell me in what way you could've changed anything had you not been seasick? Other than getting nearly drowned? And...would you have stopped the damned boat from hitting the yacht? Would you have kept the boat from sinking? Would you?"

Tim truly had no answer to that.

"Perhaps..." He tried.

"Perhaps what exactly, McGee?"

"If I hadn't been seasick, I would've stood a better chance getting in the life raft along with you guys." Tim muttered.

"True. So?"

Gibbs knew very well where Tim's mind was taking him. He also realized his agent had to get it off his chest, this burden of guilt and self-pity. Gibbs knew from experience how such thoughts could end up in a quagmire of negative emotions, if left unattended.

"You wouldn't have needed to jump after me. In fact, you should've let me go. You risked your life for me. You shouldn't have done that."

"Are you telling me that what I did was stupid?" The team leader tried to suppress a smile, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch.

Tim looked up appalled, as Gibbs knew he would. Oh, the boy could be so predictable.

"NO-oooo! Well...not really. It's... There are rules and those say, when in such an emergency, one first saves oneself. No use risking your life as well. If... I mean... There would only be one casualty. You jumping after me, could've had you killed as well and that would've been completely unnecessary. A useless death."

Gibbs nodded. "A useless death. That the way you see it? My attempt at saving your butt resulting in a useless death."

"Yeah..." Tim furrowed his brow as he looked Gibbs straight in the face again. "That's right."

"So it would've been better had we...had I just let you die because saving you would be a useless act meaning certain death for me?"

"Yeah?" All of a sudden, Tim wasn't so sure anymore. Maybe he hadn't been clear about what he meant, how he felt... He must've been more loopy from the medication than he thought.

"Who's to tell how trying to save someone would end? Where's the certainty of failure or success? Where's the sense if one can't trust somebody when one's life is threatened? Okay, so I jumped in after you. I would've done this for anyone. Wouldn't you do the same?"

Now Tim didn't like where this dialogue was leading. What was the boss implying by that? He shifted nervously in his bed, his fingers clutching the sheets.

"Would you, McGee?"

"Of course I would, Boss." Tim whispered.

"Good. By the way, you should also remember you belong to me. Since the day you started on my team. You're worth more to me alive than dead, McGee... Remember that."

"I'm sorry..."

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"If you weren't injured, I'd slap you. For all your being brainy, you can sometimes be such a...round-eyed..." He looked away incredulously, not believing the look Tim was giving him; literally wide-eyed. "Yeah, that exactly!" _You've got to be kidding_.

"Uhm..."

"Look, I care for you. You can rest assured. I'll always be on your six, as much as I can trust you'll have my back when that time comes. So pull yourself together. I want this chapter closed. Understood?"

"Yeah."

"Oh and one more thing. When you're cleared for work, I don't wanna have you breaking your back for me over some undue feelings of guilt you think you gotta have! Not again. I don't need a chauffeur and my fish don't need feeding."

"Got it, boss."

At least Gibbs would've expected a smile or at least some reaction, but he was met with a blank face. So be it.

"Good."

He rose from his chair, his expression somewhat mollified. "Look, I'm after some coffee. You think about what I said. When I get back, I want to see you composed again. That clear?"

"Crystal..."

"See ya." Gibbs walked out of the room, giving the agent some room to collect himself.

When he returned, a little later, Tim was lying down. Whether asleep or not, it didn't matter. This time, he would sit and wait until McGee felt ready to talk. Gibbs wasn't altogether sure the matter was closed.

"I thought I screwed up." Tim's voice sounded tired, as if he'd bottled up something for a long time.

Gibbs looked at McGee but the other man was still lying in the same position, eyes closed as if asleep.

"What's that?"

"I said that I..."

"I know what you said, McGee."

"Then why...? Ah, never mind. That's why you're still here, aren't you? You know."

"Know what?"

Tim heaved a big sigh and winced as a pain shoot let him know in no uncertain terms he should take a little more care of his abused lungs.

"That I realized it was wrong of me to think that."

"So, why was that so hard to acknowledge?"

"I...I didn't see you...here... I saw Tony, Ducky, the others...Z-ziva..."

"Yeah, about that."

Tim blushed and shifted uncomfortably in bed, and that brought about another wince.

Gibbs' hand went to the lever. "Here, let me help you sit a little straighter, okay? That better?"

"We never fooled you, didn't we? You knew all along..."

"You broke my rule. You and Ziva."

"I'm..."

"Don't...say it, McGee." Gibbs growled.

Tim, though, slowly turned his head to face his boss and Gibbs was sure he caught a gleam of defiance in the green eyes.

"I was going to say I was _not _sorry for breaking your rule #12."

"You're serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life, Gibbs." Tim earnestly replied.

It was amazing, Gibbs thought, how his guy could still manage to throw him for a loop with his swings.

"To my knowledge, there's no official rule stating that federal agents can't be romantically involved with each other. There are no policies on dating co-workers. Other agencies allowed marriages between agents. So, you tell me, Gibbs, by what right you enforce this – _your_- rule? Yes, Ziva and I have been going out. For six months, now."

With this long monologue, at least to to Tim's standards, he was fairly running out of breath. In fact, he'd been on such a roll that even Gibbs couldn't put in a word. A rarity.

"_Bold as brass_." Gibbs thought, and keeping his face neutral, he spoke. "Are you finished?"

"Yeah..." Tim sulked, but then seemed to reconsider. "No!"

Gibbs raised a quizzical brow in response. "No?"

"No. I'm not done yet." Another careful breath. "Have we ever given you a reason, any reason at all, for finding fault in the execution of our jobs because of our dating? I hope not. Did it threaten work relationships? No. Did it jeopardize work flow? Cloud our judgement in the field? No! And now, bringing up the subject of my hospitalization and the reason I got here: has Ziva reacted much...out of character? Was she in any way behaving unprofessional because I was badly injured? No, I didn't think so. And d'you know why? Because we ARE professionals and don't let our relationship interfere with our jobs. As far as I'm concerned, you've got nothing to reproach us."

Tim lapsed into silence again. His chest was heaving with both emotion and fatigue. And still, he glared at Gibbs, as if daring the other to contradict him on each and every point he'd made.

Then, after he'd had his say, realization struck at of how he'd sounded and he felt the first twinges of remorse. He blanched at his own audacity of speaking up to his superior in such a way, and how easily he'd given in to that.

Gibbs had seen the array of emotions cross his man's face and he had a fair idea of how McGee was feeling at the moment. He had been as surprised as his otherwise demure agent. Or maybe not? Hadn't McGee acted like this once before? When Sarah, his 'little' sister had been the prime suspect of a homicide case? It was a day that would be well remembered by many within NCIS. In fact, McGee had succeeded in baffling the whole squad room and beyond by his protectiveness. Scuttlebutt had never worked so fast as the day that the shy, geeky agent on Gibbs' crack team had lied to start his own investigation. It hadn't been easy for Gibbs to forgive the young man for not trusting his own co-workers. What? His own team leader! Granted, the evidence did link Sarah McGee to the murder of her former boyfriend. One hated to think what Special Agent Timothy McGee would've done, had his sister really been convicted for coldblooded murder.

"Okay, I've let you talk. Do you feel better now?"

"Eh..."

"C'mon, Tim. Be honest with me...to yourself... This has been bugging you for a while, hasn't it? Whose idea was it to keep it from me?"

"We knew we wouldn't be able to anyway. It's just..."

"Just...?" Gibbs prompted.

"We were waiting for the right time to tell you...and the others..." Tim muttered. "But you knew, anyway, didn't you?"

The other gave as simple nod.

"And you know what, Tim?"

Tim looked up expectantly and yet with some trepidation that was apparent from the nervous fumbling of his fingers on the sheet.

"I don't care. I don't _mind_. What do you think I could do about it, anyway? Punish you for disobeying one of my rules? They're guidelines, Tim, no more. I like a tight team and I've got that. Your relationship with Ziva hasn't damaged that. The worst I could do, if I wanted to play it rough, would be to arrange for a transfer for either or both of you. But what would I gain by splitting my own good functioning team?"

Tim's face brightened considerably.

"However, as soon as it interferes with your tasks as agents, I will not hesitate to arrange for a reassignment."

"We'll be discrete, boss." Tim agreed, much relieved.

It didn't go unnoticed to Gibbs how his agent changed his address.

Gibbs took his coffee and brought it to his lips. One gulp and he set it down again with undeniable disgust. His coffee had gone cold.

"Any time, now, and they'll bring dinner. You can have mine. Don't feel much like coffee, right now."

His words had barely left his mouth when the door opened and a pretty nurse set a tray upon the little turning table.

"Let me raise the head of the bed a little more, agent McGee. There. Done. Anything else? No? Enjoy your dinner, then. And don't forget to take your medication."

She flashed him a bright smile and left again.

Without a word, Tim pushed a cup and the coffee pot towards Gibbs, who, gratefully, accepted.

They were still sitting in companionable silence when there was a knock again and Ziva craned her neck in before walking further into the room and over to Tim's bed.

She cast a wary glance at Gibbs and a questioning look towards Tim, who, between two spoons of vanilla pudding, motioned her not too worry.

"It's okay, Zee. He knows."

"Oh!" Was all she said.

Gibbs snickered and drank the last of his coffee before getting on his feet to leave.

"I'll leave you two alone, now. Make sure I don't hear any complaints. That clear?"

Tim and Ziva answered in unison: "Clear!"

Then, he squeezed Tim's shoulders. "Get well, Tim. Don't want to see you back at your desk unless you get the all clear."

At the door, he turned once more. "Ziva, make sure he gets some rest."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **_Final chapter! I hope you enjoyed this story and I thank my faithful reviewers for their boundless patience! _**  
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**Chapter 18**

Tim had been back at his desk for two weeks and was now due for a medical debriefing which was necessary to determine his readiness for field duty.

Before returning, albeit on desk duty, he'd already been seeing a psychiatrist. Since a critical report had been added to his personnel file, the need had arisen to have him undergo a psychological evaluation. Not that he'd been in a shootout or a hostage situation, but the circumstances had still been such that he had no other option but comply with this examination he had come to dread. His fears, however, proved unfounded. Of course he was nervous and in a sweat over this, what he considered an ordeal. However, the psychiatrist attached to the agency had found nothing amiss with his behavior. Accordingly, the specialist had ascribed Tim's unease to this appointment.

He'd come off very well with only two psycho therapeutic sessions where he'd learnt that the psychological impact on himself and his team had been negligible. Ergo, he was soon found mentally sound to carry out his high-stress job.

Still, looking back on the case, it seemed almost impossible to Tim that he had come so close to dying. Of course he was well aware that his job held risks and he was willing to take them.

Still, his mind still took him to the near fatal experience when he least expected it.

And he still woke up in the dead of the night, gasping for air and battling with the sheets on his bed. The recurring nightmares were invariably about drowning. Always that. It was all too real: the water closing above his head, and him sinking to the deep with the light becoming dimmer. No longer able to hold in his breath, he drew...water...and woke up, sweating all over his body. All thought of returning to sleep abandoned, he would then disentangle himself from the bed clothes and walk into the main room where he would sit in the moonlight, shivering, until it was time to get ready for work.

The doctor had reassured him the frequency of the nightmares would lessen, given time. They were a signal his brain was trying to cope with the traumatic experience.

Yes, all things considered, he was doing better than expected.

So here he sat, waiting for his appointment with the doctor. He felt a little more comforted by the knowledge that the others had been subjected to the mandatory periodic health examination, too. They had each and everyone of them objected to it and had concocted the craziest reasons to shirk the assessment. Vance's threat to put their refusals in their personnel file had quickly quelled their plans. Defeated, they had all gone. Except for McGee, since he had still been on sick leave.

Nobody ever looked forward to a medical and neither did Tim. Least of all, now. The doctor at Bethesda had assured him he had healed enough to do his job, but it had to be certified by the physician at law enforcement.

So, when a nurse called his name, Agent McGee had taken a deep breath before stepping into the doctors office.

- -.-. -. . .

Tony barely looked up when the elevator announced its arrival at their floor with a familiar ding.

But then, his head snapped up again seeing who was stepping out of it to stride so confidently through their territory and on to his own desk.

Tony didn't need to be a profiler to recognize the bounce in the step, the erect composure, the smile and the twinkling of the emerald eyes, as sure signs that his friend would have some good news to tell them.

"Probie!"

Tim straightened himself from his stooped position after having stowed his backpack in the corner and powering up his computers.

"Yes, Tony?" He queried, trying to plaster a look of complete indifference on his face.

Ziva, had also stopped from whatever she was doing and slowly got up from her chair to come closer.

"Sooo?" The Senior Agent prompted. "How did it go? Tell us!"

Tim merely smiled and calmly turned his attention back to what he was doing.

A crumpled paper ball sailed his way and hit him in the head. It bounced on his desk and his eyes followed its trail until it rolled off...to land into the bin. He shook his head and muttered, "one chance in a million to get that effect... Wouldn't work if you aimed..."

He sighed and, eyes closed, leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. Waiting.

Tony was about to toss another ball when his friend's voice lazily drifted over.

"Peachy. I got a clean bill of health for field duty. However..."

Ziva now stood in front of his desk with a concerned look on her face. Her gaze then met to Tony's, observing a shade spreading across his as well.

The Senior Agent leaned forward to sit a little straighter in his chair, ready to ask the next, obvious, question.

As Tim still had his eyes closed, he hadn't noticed any of the silent and worried messages passing among his coworkers. His own face, though, had assumed a sad look.

"There's one condition. The doctor said I..." He inserted a dramatic pauze.

"What?" Tony nearly yelled out, worried and yet a little irritated at Tim for taking his time. What was wrong with the younger man. "What did he say, McGee?"

"She, Tony. It was a she. And you'd have found her hot, too." He smirked and continued. "She said..."

Ziva had crept closer and was now leaning over the corner of his desk, one hand planted on it for support.

"Tim." She softly urged, slightly backing when his eyes popped open and he nearly fell off his chair with shock at finding her face mere inches from his.

"Ziva! God!" He cried out, bringing his hand to his heart.

Once more, she leaned into his personal space.

"What – did – the doctor – tell you!"

Now Tony had also joined Ziva and they both stared Tim down.

He blushed and stuttered. "She...well... Nothing, really. I'm okayed for the field. Is all."

"That's it? So what about this...condition?"

"Err..a joke." He gave that small apologetic laugh of his, still blushing furiously. "I was going to say... Only if I rode shotgun... And no more playing the pack mule carrying all the gear..." His voice petered out and he licked his dry lips. What had he been thinking. They had truly been worried about him.

*smack*

"What were you thinking, McGee?" Gibbs threw at him from over the partition wall as he walked on and rounded the corner on his way to his desk.

"Sorry, guys. Shouldn't have done this." Tim shamefacedly admitted. "Hey, I just couldn't resist it."

As punishment, both Ziva and Tony head slapped him and returned to their places. All smiles, but they weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing.

Gibbs took his keys, badge and gun from his desk, and something else.

"Grab your gear. We've got a case."

They all scrambled to get ready and, stepping to the elevator, Gibbs tossed something towards Tim who just managed to catch it one handed. Uncomprehending, looked up at the Team Leader.

"?"

"You ride in the back, McGee. Don't wanna have to clean up your puke, so use the barf bag."

Tony, stepping into the elevator behind Tim, gave him a nudge. "Shotgun."

"Wha...?"

"You ride shotgun. I sit in the back next to Ziva." Tony chuckled. "You can have her all you want after work. Here, Probette's mine, Probie."

Ziva gave him a look and then, with the sweetest smile at Tim, she said: "You ride in the front, McGee. That's your punishment for tormenting us by lying." Ziva winked and grabbing his hand, she gave it a little squeeze.

Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, Tim stared straight ahead, unaware of the three pairs of smiling eyes fixed on his back.

Great to be back.

- -.-. -. . .

"McGee! He's on the move! Coming your way!"

"Capicce, Tony." Tim whispered in his mouthpiece, slowly easing his Sig from his side holster.

His back against the wall, he breathlessly waited till the suspect would round the corner, gun cocked and ready.

He could hear the man's footsteps approach rapidly, yet hesitantly as if wary for a trap.

From the backyard right in front of Tim, a dog barked excitedly and a cat screeched in response before bolting out and into the alley, followed by a small mongrel. A door flew open and a child calling what he supposed to be both animals' names came running out, in pursuit of the quarrelling pets.

Tim, briefly closing his eyes as he leaned his head against the wall, inwardly cursed. "Wonderful!"

He carefully craned his neck to peek around the corner and check for the man, but the alley was empty. His charge had taken a side alley.

There wasn't a moment to lose and he broke into a run, yelling in his mike, his voice a little hoarse and trembly with the thrill, as well as from running: "Tony! He took another route! He's run for the road! I'm after him!"

"Take care, McGee! We're right behind you!"

Trusting that they'd have his back, he found a renewed strength which made him run faster.

There! A foot, as the man was rounding another corner.

As he was running, he didn't even have the time to think about his leg; if the muscle would hold. He'd had many physio sessions and he had slowly regained his confidence but running as he was now? That was something altogether different.

The circuitous route took him to a main street where a school was located. The youngsters staring in one particular direction and the excited chatter amongst themselves, supplied him with the only clues where to go next, which was right across the school grounds.

He ran on, zig-zagging between small groups of school kids and across a football field where a match was being played until it was interrupted by the fleeing suspect...and the agent in his wake.

As he scaled over a fence, Tim cursed the man for his good condition. But then, he spotted the man and praised the Lord for gaining ground on the suspect. Having gotten his second wind, he carried on loping after the man with renewed vigor, booking it through front gardens, back-yards, alleyways,...

He followed his quarry along the side of a house and rounding the corner into the back-yard.

"Umpff!" Tim fought his way through some unexpected clotheslines when he felt a fist ram into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

He went down on his knees and, trying to catch his breath, he vaguely saw the man take off again.

A coughing fit delayed his pursuit but then he was on the move again, offering a breathless 'thank you' to a Chihuahua barking the direction the man had taken.

This time, he found himself in another garden with the sprinklers on. Cool...

He ran his hand across his face, running on, never breaking his stride.

All the time, he'd maintained contact with his team on the phone, giving directions, his location, his progress...or lack thereof...

Then, without warning, the chase was over.

Hearing a loud splash, he battled through some shrubs and undergrowth, stopping short in front of a swimming pool.

He edged closer, breathing hard.

This was the terminus for his quarry who, spluttering and gasping, tried to clamber out of the pool only to find himself staring into the muzzle of a gun, and, right behind it, the grim face of the NCIS agent who'd been on his heels.

Staying alert, Tim put away his Sig and, grunting with effort, grabbed the suspect at the collar to haul him out of the pool and dump him, face down, on the grass.

Neither man had any fight left in them.

As the other made to roll on his back, Tim, arrested the movement with his foot. "Stay on your stomach and place your hands behind your back!" He instructed.

Keeping a wary eye on the other, Tim made short work of cuffing and searching his catch. Finding a knife, he tossed it out of reach.

Staggering back a few yards, Tim remained in a stooped position as he tried to catch his breath.

He was amazed he hadn't felt any twitches of pain in his leg at all. Not even now after such a lengthy chase. No, his limbs were merely trembling with the intensity of the run. Nothing more.

He was well aware of this feat which wouldn' have been possible had his injured leg not completely healed – oh boy! - didn't that feel good? He was a little out of breath, but that was to be expected under the circumstances. After all, he had run a race...and won!

Meanwhile, his team had caught up with him. He straightened his back and looked around at the semi-circle of his colleagues, grinning sheepishly.

Tony offered him a wink and went straight for the prone suspect.

Ziva came closer and their fingers brushed in passing, brown and green eyes locking for a second.

Next, Gibbs, ignoring the wordless communication, halted in front of Tim, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You good, Tim?"

Tim, swallowed and nodded vigorously, giving the thumbs up.

"Never felt better, Boss!"

"Like it was meant to be. Welcome back."

They both turned and went about their business again, bringing the man into custody.

Now, he was truly back. 

~ The End ~

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I'd be pleased to read whatever thoughts you have on this story: good or bad, thrilling or boring to death. Trust me, I'm in no position to cause you any harm. Again, I apologize for any errors as English is my third language. I can only say I did my best.


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